BMOC 8: A Knight On The Town
by David D. Amaya
Summary: When Jason and Jubilee are caught leaving the Academy Grounds one morning, they are forced to accompany Agent Nichols to an Awards Banquet in Gotham City in the eighth installment of the BMOC Series. Just how many times *can* four teenage heroes get kidnapped on just *one evening?* Find out in this Gen X Crossover story, guest staring the Batman. *Chapter 8 is now posted*
1. Chapter 1

**The "Big Mutant On Campus" Series**  
**By David D. Amaya**

_**Part Eight "**__**A Knight on the Town**_"  
**_Chapter 1  
_**

* * *

_**New Disclaimer:**_

_**X-Men, Generation X**_ and all related images are property of **Marvel Entertainment, LLC. **_**Batman**_ and all related images are property of **DC Entertainment, Inc. **No profit is being made off this original work of Fan-authored fiction. All original characters are of my copyright and may not be reproduced without my consent. All other facilities and landmark images are property of their respective owners.

Elements of this story are formed from the Fan-Authored stories _"A Friend in Need"_ and its sequel _"A Friend in Need II: Sweet Child of Mine"_ both authored by **Somogyi** and available to read here on this site. Check out my Profile link and look for her stories and profile.

Feel free to read her great stories, but please _wait until you are finished with this month's chapter. Okay? _

_Thanks!_

* * *

A shout out goes to three Fan Fiction Writers who took the challenge to beta read this story;

_**Robin-Is-Totally-Whelming **_&_** Aureus Lux **_two very good Fan Fiction authors who tackled the challenge to help me with my first Batman crossover, and as such they have been awarded the title; **Beta Reader **_**First Class**_**!**

Special mention goes out to _**SMakarov **_who wanted to help, but with beta reading other stories, bowed out, but I still thank _SMakarov_ for all the help!

* * *

_**Remember, d**__**isclaimers are the first step of the journey**__**.**_

* * *

_**Prologue**_

The Southern gentleman lounges in the small apartment procured for him. It may be roach-infested and barely the size of a matchbox, but he needn't too many comforts, especially in this city, especially when his fee has been paid in full.

The gentleman in the room next to his is planning to knock off a jewelry store. That _might_ attract the cops, but he doesn't worry. In the apartment upstairs, he hears a fight that ends in gunfire that _WILL_ attract the cops, but he still doesn't worry. Not because he has more firepower than either of these two-bit hoodlums with delusions of grandeur.

He doesn't worry, because he is a_ true gambler_.

Duhan "Lil Duce" Boudreaux is a proud Cajun and the fourth generation of a true _gambling family_. The Boudreaux knowledge of all games of chance has led to his banishment of every casino from Metropolis to Madripoor, from a tribal reservation bingo hall in the California desert, to the City of Dreams Casino in the Macao Peninsula, _all before his 22__nd__ birthday._ Therefore, he embarked into _the family business._

This is the business which now sees him in this Gotham City flophouse. He is, as his father, and _his_ father before him, and _HIS_ father before him, a _croupier_. Moreover he, as his predecessors before him, has an _exclusive_ clientele.

The legendary Family Boudreaux has, for four generations, been the card dealer _to the underworld._

The patriarch of the Boudreaux is his namesake, Duhan _"Le Grand Duce"_ Boudreaux, who was said to have invented the Executive Card Game, a highly guarded, secret marathon poker game made up of the local area's celebrities and other high-rollers, but the games of the legendary young Boudreaux caters only to the most powerful movers, shakers, and _crime bosses. _

Despite the fact that Duhan's card games bring together so many low life high rollers and separate even _more_ money from their wallets, he runs these secret, _innovative_ games, working only for tips in an effort to keep the streets of his native New Orleans, Louisiana free of needless bloodshed.

But it is the widely spread stories of how, despite Boudreaux's youth, he runs his operation, _and more importantly his games_, all on the up and up, _even between those who would cheat their own mothers._

It is for that reason he is brought to Chicago in 1925.

Paid the princely sum of $500, the young Boudreaux is hired to deal a clean, marathon game of five-card stud to Hymie Weiss, Bugs Moran, Dion O' Banion, and Polack Joe Saltis, all set up as a parley vehicle to bring about a truce between the North Side Mob and the Chicago Syndicate. This is all made possible by used-furniture dealer of simple renown:

Al Capone.

So impressed with the 19-year-old dealer, Mr. Weiss tips the dealer with his favorite pair of brass knuckles, and Polack Joe dubs him _"Le Grand Duce."_ Capone is _so_ gracious that he tips the young lad by paying for his Louisiana State University education _in full_.

For decades _and continuing through the 21__st__ century_, the rumor mill around American Legion and VFW halls tells the tale of a young US Army tank Captain, Duhan's _grand-père_, the apply-christened Chance Boudreaux, who received a Silver Star - not for his heroics in the battle of the Kasserine Pass, say those who claim they were there. He was given the award for his honor in a card game.

He was known to everyone in the US II Corps as the Cajun Cardsharp who always carried a deck of cards into battle and bluffed his way to victory, on the field of battle as well as into the wallets of his brothers-in-arms. Chance was rumored to have dealt a game between Major General Orlando Ward, commander of the 1st Armored Division, and the legendary _Desert Fox,_ General Field Marshal Erwin Rommel of the 7th Panzer's _"Ghost Division"_.

Due to Rommel's chivalrous code of honor (and the 7th Panzer's oft-reported humane treatment of all their captured soldiers), The German arranges a secret parley session takes place between the two commanders over prisoners of war after his counterpart's poorly-led American's were soundly beaten by the master technician.

It is agreed to be decided on a game of cards.

_**The game:**_ a best-of-seven-hands game of Baccarat.

_**The stakes:**_ Six injured Allied tank platoon solders, led by a high-ranking US Senator's son fresh out of West Point, taken prisoner and rumored to soon be taken, _then ransomed_, by the Red Skull _himself_, against a young Bavarian Volunteer _Panzergrenadier_ _Oberstleutnant_, whom the Desert Fox _personally_ took under his wing, and who the British captured at Thala two days before.

To balance the stakes, Rommel also antes up his prized Field Marshal baton.

Cpt. Boudreaux is ordered by Maj. Gen. Ward to deal a square game, and Rommel bests the Allied commander, _yet again,_ in the seventh and deciding hand, holding a Jesse James (_a 5 and 4 of clubs_) against Ward's TNT (_a pair of tens worth nothing_).

Though as gracious in victory in a dusty tent as he is in a Panzer IV tank, the Field Marshal, complementing the young captain on his shuffling skills, asks him why he did not try to cheat for his commander, to which the young man replied; _"Such acts of dishonor have no place in _ma famille_! On the battlefield as well as the poker table, I am a gambler with my money as well a__s my life, _mon general_, bu__t __**never**__ my honor!"_

So moved was the Gentleman Warrior by the captain's words, that not only had he allowed the exchange of the Allied platoon for his protégé, but as a tip, Rommel presented to the dealer _**his command baton!**_

Duhan's _père_, Parieur _"Five Deck"_ Boudreaux told young Duhan of that most honorable Gentleman of Fortune many, many times. He even played with Rommel's baton as a young boy. Then at the mature age of 14, father introduced son to _the lifestyle_, when he took him to the lad's first Executive Poker Game, in a less-than upscale locale in the fair city of Gotham, between those most upstanding of citizens; Edward _"The King"_ Barlow, Rupert Thorne, Roland Daggett, Tony Zucco, and Arnold Stromwell.

All was going well up to the fifth hand. Zucco bluffing with a Scotch Straight, (_a 10, 8,6, 4, 2_ hand) was about to lose his West End protection racket to Stromwell's royal flush - that was, until some Gotham PD goons broke up such a tranquil moment.

That corrupt Captain Arnold Flass stole the Desert Fox'sBaton from the boy's hands _like the thief he was._ He and his _père_ upheld the family honor, son faking fear of the corrupt lawman and 'unable' to answer questions while father pleaded the Fifth at their trials when asked his name! The son was shipped back to Bayou des Écores, LA, while his _père_ spent a dime at the newly built Blackgate Penitentiary for that, though cementing the Boudreaux Family legacy.

As his tip from the Gotham Five, _Five Deck_ was treated as a prince in Blackgate and given the job as the prison's new head chef. Authentic Cajun cuisine suddenly was served to prisoner and guard alike and, every Friday night, he dealt hold 'em to the _crème de la crème_ of Gotham's incarcerated underworld figures. Every Saturday night, he dealt five-card draw to the off-duty guards.

As a tip every year his _père_ was imprisoned; young Duhan received birthday and Christmas gifts from several notable denizens of Gotham, including his favorite Blackgate Santa, _Edward E. Nigma._

The Riddler bestowed upon young Duhan his first Rubik's Cube as well as other puzzles and brain challenging games, which sharpened the young man's mind, enhancing his gambling abilities to almost super-human levels.

It is this Gentleman of Conundrum, that brings _"Lil Duce"_ back to the United States, haven just returned from Interpol custody.

His last employment was at behest of the ruler of Latveria. The Cajun was sent to Madripoor and some dive in Lowtown called the Princess Bar, and was to host a 5 million Euro Hold 'em tournament von Doom financed as "payment for services rendered and _retained._"

In this Under-World Series of Poker, the Wrecking Crew, Bullseye, Black Tom Cassidy, Dr. Octopus, Carl "Crusher" Creel and his main squeeze Titania were entered in the tournament, which was hosted by Madame Hydra, herself being the tenth player.

After five hours, Bullseye and Thunderball were both up €900,000 when SHIELD decided to ruin that pizza party.

Despite hearing their plans for the near future and their discussing their past violations of the regulations set forth by the law enforcement community, he upheld the family honor at their trials. _"Lil Duce"_ evoked the Article 6 privilege against self-incrimination when asked his name in several courts throughout Europe.

As his tip for this tournament, the players decided to pool their recent plunder and hire the best defense lawyers stolen loot can buy, and they reduce his sentence down to only 18-months at Her Majesty's Prison-Wormwood Scrubs, where he dealt games every Thursday night.

Mr. Nigma arranged this evening's little tea party while he was in stir at the Scrubs. Duhan's €5,000 fee, paid in advance in Euro-backed bearer bonds, was sent to his parcel box at his Swiss chalet in _Château-d'Œx_, where he plans to retire after this game.

Though he enjoys the relative protection he receives from the outlaw community (they never did find the body of that punk who carjacked his '69 Coupe de Ville while he was living in Metropolis), all the gunfights, stabbings, turf wars, police raids, cheap booze, _cheaper dames,_ and worse of all, _those damn unmannered super heroes,_ have taken a toll on the Cajun's life. And at the ripe old age of 39, he was just getting to old for all that _marde!_

Four knocks emanate from the door of his room, snapping him from his reverie, followed by ten knocks, then five knocks, then ten knocks, then four knocks.

" '_Rommel's Honor,' once again_," he reflects as he opens the door….

* * *

Rhino runs a finger long the itchy neck brace and face mask he still has to wear. He was given explicit instructions by his current employer, the Riddler: Pick up the Cajun dealer and his assistant at the Wayne Gardens Hotel, room 64. Then take them to his favorite game shop to buy five randomly picked decks of cards and a cool mil worth of chips, then bring them both to the Stacked Deck Club in Old Gotham. Then, Muggsy will let him take his pain meds.

When the two are delivered at _The Stacked Deck,_ they surrender their cell phones before being frisked by the henchmen from all five of the players present. After getting a clean bill of health (_although one player insisted that they be frisked twice_), he and his assistant begin setting up for this Executive Poker Game. The table provided was refurbished to like-new condition at the combined expense of the five players, and its maiden game is about to begin. The chips are now in the process of being divided into six racks (one player insisted on dividing his chips into two trays). The henchmen assigned as the house bank indicate that all the players have paid their hundred-large buy-in, which is now locked in a small box, which is then placed in plain view at the end of the bar. Lil Duce's assistant places each rack in front of their assigned places on the table. Once this is completed, Duhan calls the game to order;

"_Messieurs_," he calls out to the five players and their entourages, "as yo' buy-in has already been accepted, ma able assistant and I've completed de preparation fo' 'dis Executive Game, and we ready to begin _à vos loisirs._

"Now fo' de rules o' de game: Starting ante always $100. No player may pass on mo den _trios mains_ in a row 'less you provide ante as penalty, o'erwise you may _quitter la scène_ an' yo' lieutenant's shall cash out on yo' behalf. _A aucun moment_ is a _joueur_ allowed ta threaten 'nother wit deadly weapons _at the table, _aseach entourage be armed to the teeth, y'all may feel free ta threaten any o'er _joueur's_ men, this be _fair_, _non_?" He receives chuckles from many of the hired goons in attendance.

"You will be 'llowed _des boissons_ of yo' choosing at de table, but _non_ eating while cards be in play. All meal an' rest breaks have been pre'rranged an' _convenu,_ an' de not affect dis game. An' on dat note, _Monsieur Nigma_, _J'ai déjà mangé__le souper__,_ but if you will, I would enjoy some _Tarte à la Bouillie_ from dat _Française de boulangerie_ on _Rue_ Kane dat my père told me so much 'bout. An' ma assistant wish a _bifteck souper avec tous les accompagnements_ from Manny's Steak House on _Rue Thurston, s'il vous plaît._"

"Of course, _Monsieur_ Boudreaux," the Riddler agrees as he puts down his Baxter Box and snaps his fingers. His biggest goon steps forward. "Rhino here hasn't eaten yet and he will gladly escort your assistant _Monsieur __Tache_ to dinner. Besides, he really needs to take his Oxycodone with food. Meanwhile, my esteemed Mr. Cobblepot's associate, Mr. Hawke shall procure your favorite pastries along with other refreshments for my other guests, all with my complements gentlemen."

As all three men leave the room, the five players sit at their prearranged seats at the table. The dealer proceeds to place one of the purchased decks on the felt, and after opening it and removing the superfluous cards, he riffles the cards in his hands, then begins to shuffle the deck in several exotic ways until the deck is brought down to the center of the table.

"While your family's reputation is legendary, Mr. Boudreaux," the Penguin admired. "your skill puts all others in your profession to shame. I noted several techniques that are rare and used only in the most exquisite of locales."

"Yo kind praise touches ta _quatre générations_ o' ma humble clan, _Monsieur Manchot._ If you will further honor dem by cutting de deck, we may begin, _non?_"

The Penguin grasps the top fourth of the 54 cards with a flipper-like hand and brings them down. The dealer then places the remainder of the cards at the top.

"Now we begin, _messieurs_," Twenty-five cards are dealt to the master criminals. "I would like nice clean game, yes?"

"That'll be a first!" Penguin remarks.

After adjusting their cards, the former DA, sitting at the 2 o'clock position is holding _two pair;_ kings and deuces, with a 4 of clubs as a kicker.

To his left, The Riddler finds he is holding _all the Primes;_ A Duce, a Trey, a 5, a 7 and a Jack.

Directly in front of Duhan, the Joker is sitting in on a _Beatles Reunion_ (Three Aces and both Jokers).

To his right, Killer Croc hasn't figured out he has a _Jeffrey Dahmer_ (a 6, 7, 8, 9, and a Jack).

And to the dealer's right, the Penguin is riding a _Steel Wheel Bicycle _(an Ace, 2, 3, 4 and 5 of Hearts)

"So fellas, word at the summer villa is that the four of you tried to nab the same victims, and _completely screw up_, all in the same night," The Clown Prince of Crime then breaks out in uncontrolled laughter when he sees the looks on all their faces, which tells him that the rumors are true. "Who'da thunk that for once, I would be glad that I didn't break out of Arkham _**one day earlier!**_ So, how does _this_ joke go, my fine feathered fiend?"

"Not well, _Chuckles._"

* * *

_**One month ago….**_

"Yes, Miss Tate? What is it?"

"_Special Agent Nichols to see you, Director."_

"Thank you, Miss. Tate. Please send him in."

The Director of the United States Secret Service stood from behind his desk at the Secret Service headquarters on H St & 9th St NW and greeted one of his Staircase agents with a hearty handshake, then grasping the agent by the shoulders, the Director turned him to the left, then to the right, and then finally looked into both his eyes.

"You don't look any worse for wear," he apprised. "I guess those kids haven't killed you, _yet._ But you seem to have less hair on your head than you did two weeks ago."

"Thank you for noticing, sir."

"Please be seated," He gestured to his chair. "There is something I wanted to ask you."

Special Agent Kordel Nichols sat in front of the Director's desk. "What would you like to ask, sir?"

"I received a note from Ron Ziegler that you put in your usual request for March 7th off, but what I noticed is that this year you have asked for that _entire_ weekend. May I ask why the change of plans, Kordel?"

"Here, sir," Kordel handed his boss a letter. "There is a pleasant change in my itinerary this year. The Trust has been offered a generous endowment on the condition that the scholarship terms change; from the local Boston area to throughout the Eastern Seaboard, allowing the chosen students to be increased from three to ten annually and allowing those students to choose any school in the country, Furthermore the endowment would be contractually obligated annually for the next ten years and would be matching already existing funds raised."

"Do you have a problem with that, Kordel?"

"I would be lying if I do not mention that I intended this scholarship program to be a personal vehicle,_ for reasons you know all too well, sir,_" he answered truthfully. "But I discussed this with Gary's family and they all fully endorse accepting the endowment. I would be doing his memory an immense disservice if I turned down this opportunity, sir."

"Good call, son. But what's the catch?"

"The endowment is to be made at a fundraising dinner reception to be held out of town on the evening of the sixth. As the Executive Director of the Trust and Chairman of the Scholarship Committee Board, I am expected to attend. Will that pose an issue, sir?"

"Ron wanted to deny the request, but the President has decided to take his family to Camp David that weekend and you would be on stand-down anyway, so I am granting your request, Kordel. You will be relieved of duty as of 1100-hours Friday, March 5, after Kilowatt is in residence in Castle and ready to pack for Cactus. But keep that between us, Kordel. Knight wants to make it a surprise.

"And speaking of surprises, Kryptonite's birthday party will be in the Blue Room, at 1530-hours tomorrow. You will be on-duty, casual dress is required, but I'm going to suggest wear your Secret Service team jersey - it'll help conceal your weapons, and Kryptonite's favorite color happens to be blue. Also, speak with Agent Reynolds about what to pack and how to pack it," The Director stood and extended his hand again. "Well, congratulations on the endowment, Kordel, I'm sure some deserving students will be glad to see you have secured more funding. Well, have a good time at the fundraiser."

"I will suppose you skimmed over the line as to where the endowment award will be held, sir."

The Director looked over the letter again, and then he saw the address. "The Cathedral Square Grand Hotel in - _oh my _- Gotham City!" He looked Kordel with grin. "And I thought you hated the accommodations on board the _Chester Phillips!_"

"It gets better, sir."

"In what way, son?"

"I have three extra tickets to the endowment dinner. And I do not know anyone who will accompany me _willingly_ to Gotham City. Gary's family already turned down my offer and Charlie Block has not spoken to me since I asked him-"

"My answer is _'no'_ as well, so don't ask," the Director interrupted him. "The last time I was in Gotham City, was that incident with Renegade that went sideways. I'll _NEVER_ allow the Boss within _spitting distance _of that Art Deco Hellhole as long as _I'm_ in charge around here!"

"So what should I do, sir?"

"The way I see it, you have only two choices," the Director put his hand on his shoulder in a fatherly manor. "One: you can go stag. And secondly, you can always use those tickets as punishment if, say, one of your students get's out of hand. Now that'll be one hell of a scared-straight situation!"

* * *

_**Three weeks later…**_

"Very well, everyone," Sean Cassidy informed the students in the Biosphere after their workout session. "You are all dismissed, but Jubilee, Jason, will you both accompany Agent Nichols and I to my office?"

Less than five minutes later, the two young mutants stood before the Irish headmaster's desk, the Secret Service Agent leaning against the wall next to where Sean sat. "Kordel informs me that the two of you left the academy grounds well before breakfast this morning. Will you be so kind as to explain why you both left the grounds without permission?"

Jason stood there, his posture militant. "I'm an emancipated minor," he reminded them. "I don't need your permission for anything that doesn't concern you."

"But Jubilee is still a minor, Jason," Sean reminded him. "And besides, when you enrolled here, you signed the same code of conduct contract as all the rest of the students. Now, what I would like to know is why you exited the grounds. _Lass?_" he addressed the young pyrotechnic.

Jubilee was uncharacteristically quiet. She fidgeted where she stood as he looked at the pair of adults before her.

"Jubilee," Kordel spoke up. "If Mr. Delano were to have been pulled over by the police, for, say, speeding in his SUV, running a stop sign, or any other minor traffic offence, _you_ would have been detained, no matter what nor minor the violation. Now, what we need to know is where the two of you went, and _why_ the two of you left the grounds."

Jubilee looked at the older student and continued fidgeting. Jason held up a quieting hand. "It's okay, if you don't want to yet, Jubes," he told her softly. "You see, I know _why_ she left _with_ me," he told the pair of instructors. "But if you guys were on her _need-to-know,_ she wouldn't have told _me_."

"Then why did _you_ drive off the grounds then, Mr. Delano?"

"You two damn sure ain't on _my_ need-to-know, _**either, **_One-Time."

"Mr. Delano, when you signed the code of conduct agreement, you gave your word that you would abide by the rules set forth in it," Kordel reminded him. "Rules that every other student has to follow. That contract also dictates that violations will be met with penalties for transgressions. Unless your word has absolutely has no value, please tell us why you exited the grounds without authorization this morning and where the two of you went."

Though she trusted these two with her life, Jubilee looked at the two members of the X-Men before her and continued to fidget. She'd be willing to tell them _where_ they eventually ended up, but telling them _why_….

"It's okay, Jubes, _really,_" Jason placed a warm hand on her shoulder, and then put on a serious face, direct and challenging to the pair before him. "My word is worth more than the ransom of kings!" He looked over to Jubilee. "_And I meant that!" _He then returned his gaze to Sean and Kordel. "I know _why_ she came along for the ride, and she doesn't want you to know, _and it ain't the Danishes she was thoughtful enough ask me to stop for to bring back here!_ She knows why I left in the first place, _but I don't need you to know_. So until that day comes - _and today don't look promising -_ you won't!"

"Mr. Delano, we are more than willing to treat you and the rest of the students here with respect," Agent Nichols replied, "but _only_ if that respect is reciprocated in kind. You may start by dropping the rebellious actions you are currently utilizing."

"For _mi familia,_ rebelling isn't just an _act, _One-Time_._ My middle name _means_ _'rebellion'!"_

Sean knew when he was getting stonewalled and gave Kordel a questioning glance. Jubilee usually explained the moments of foolishness and the reasons _(such as they are)_ for doing them to him, but now, it seemed that Jason's influence was stalling her from telling them the truth.

"The two of you are dismissed," he informed them. "I will announce your punishment for leaving the grounds without permission later in the day." After they exited his office, Sean rose and dug his hands in to his jacket pockets. "That wasn't much like the lass at _all_, Kordel."

"She has never violated school policy with another student?"

"Nay; _that_ she does - _often with friends_, but they've always given their reasons for it, even if they are hard to fathom, in an effort to evade punishment, and even if those attempts are half-hearted at best. When I mention a punishment, it usually gets one of them to open up, even if it _is_ just to worm out of it. I'm concerned about that aspect."

"How have you and Emma dealt with defiance in the past, Sean?"

"Emma would have entered their minds and extracted the truth, so I'm sort of _glad_ she's in Spain for stockholder's meetings all this week. Besides, if we can't handle the kids the old fashioned way, we'll lose control of them. What do you think, Kordel?"

The Secret Service agent grins. "I believe I have found two guests to accompany me this weekend, Sean."

* * *

_End of Part one_

**_©David D. Amaya 2013_**


	2. Chapter 2

**The "Big Mutant On Campus" Series**  
**By David D. Amaya**

_**Part Eight "**__**A Knight on the Town**_"  
**_Chapter 2  
_**

Disclaimer: As per usual is at the beginning of the journey.

* * *

The sun was barely a faint glow over the Atlantic Ocean, the barest of morning rays extending like soft fingertips throughout the Gotham Palisades.

One such fingertip pointed through a window in the stately Gotham Heights manor at 1007 Mountain Drive. Through that pane of glass, a lone figure was preparing nourishment for the quartet who should have already returned to the grand 17th century mansion.

The dutiful figure assembled four trays, each laden with differing fare for the four equally differing diners. Each tray was loaded into the dumbwaiter and sent to its intended location. Then the loyal gentleman strode towards the foyer.

Approaching the grandfather clock, he advances the time to read 10:47. The clock pivoted on hidden hinges, revealing a doorway leading to a wide flight of steps hewn deep into the very bedrock foundation the mansion itself.

In the early 19th century, an ancestor of the mansion's current master led escaped slaves down these very steps to a way station to rest, eat and await nightfall so they could head to the next Underground Railroad safehouse along their journey towards the haven of what was then called Africville, in what is now in the 21st century, northwestern Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada.

Though historians of the Pre-Civil War era would universally agree he was a miserly, cantankerous, egotistical, and some have argued, a stark-raving madman, they would also agree that Solomon Wayne was passionate about this noble cause, and that is why his memory is so revered by his present-day descendant;

Bruce Wayne.

Alfred Pennyworth navigated these history laden stones and descended into the brisk chill of a huge cavern. Clinging to the high stalactites, brown bats, numbering close to several thousand, slumbered, which gave this subterranean cavity its deserving moniker:

_The Batcave._

The trays were retrieved and then painstakingly arranged on a small table in an immaculately cleaned portion of the Batcave. Two poached eggs, whole wheat toast with Sugar Free Orange Marmalade, mango slices and a glass of skim milk for Barbara. A Denver omelet, half a grapefruit, and orange juice were prepared for Master Dick. A Belgian waffle with fresh strawberries and fat-free whipped cream, a slice of cantaloupe, and a glass of apple juice were for Master Tim. And the usual morning meal for Master Bruce: three sutured wounds, two removed bullets and one soft boiled egg, and if he was feeling celebratory after this evening's excursion, a slice of dry multigrain toast.

The roar of three powerful motors indicated the arrival of the four. _And not a single moment too soon,_ he thought to himself as he strode to the Batmobile as the Dark Knight and his squires disembarked from their vehicles.

"This evening's venture was successful I hope, Master Bruce?" he asked.

"The Joker's back in Arkham." Batman informed him flatly as he walked past him.

"I would ask if that meant _'no',_" Alfred remarked, "but I have several years of experience in this household."

"We got 'em before he and his henchmen could set off the bomb under the Trigate Bridge," Robin explained, "but he nearly killed a cop before we arrived."

"_My word!_ Was it anyone we know personally?"

"John Howard of the Quick Response Team," Batgirl answered. "He was the forward scout for the QRT, but Joker threw him off the second level and he landed on the train tracks. Daddy said he's in serious condition at St. Luke's Hospital, but he's expected to pull through."

"Thank goodness for the small miracles. Are any of you seriously injured?"

"No, Alfred," Nightwing reported. "Just the standard wounds, but you know Bruce, you'll have to pull teeth before you find out if he _has _a toothache."

"Of course, Master Dick. I have prepared breakfast for all of you, and it is waiting in the dining area."

"Great!" Robin energetically went to the table. "I'm starving!"

"Me, too," Batgirl replied. "Thank you, Alfred."

"My pleasure, my dear," the English gentlemen held the chair for the Police Commissioner's daughter. Nightwing sat between her and Robin and they quietly began to nourish themselves after a long night protecting the good people of Gotham City.

"While I have the three of you in a captive audience," Alfred spoke from the head of the table as he removed the untouched tray. "I would like to call to your attention the annual Martha Wayne Foundation's Endowment Award Saturday evening of the sixth."

Robin groaned despite the mouthful of waffle. "Not again!" he remarked after swallowing. "I'd rather face the Riddler with a headache!"

"One would argue you lack the equipment to have such an equipment failure, Master Timothy," Alfred quipped leading to chuckles from Batgirl and Nightwing.

"It might not be as bad as last year," Batgirl took a bite of mango. "Maybe the Penguin can knock off a jewelry store and we can skip out early this year."

"If only luck is on our side," Nightwing added. "One stretch that dinner was uninterrupted three straight years in a row. I nearly wished Mr. Freeze would show up just to break the monotony of the evening."

"Heaven forbid the streets of Gotham be quiet one night a year."

"Seriously, Alfred," Batgirl sipped her milk. "Who is the recipient this year?"

"This year, as part of the Foundation's college scholarship endowments," he began, "the Foundation will award a multi-million dollar annual grant to the Gary Erwin Memorial Scholarship Fund, late of Boston University. As per the terms of the endowment, it will increase the number and scope of its awarded scholarships."

"And as per the terms of the award dinner," Nightwing adds. "Three dull speeches, dry Veal Scaloppini with leeks-"

"And us chasing Poison Ivy with a bad case of heartburn on Sunday night," Robin finished, leading to another round of giggles.

"Who's receiving the award this year, Alfred?" Nightwing asked as he wiped his lips with a napkin. "Anyone we've ever heard of?"

"Well, last year they awarded the endowment to the Daily Planet's Adam Grant Trust, and Cat and Clark gave equally boring speeches," Robin shuttered with the memory. "Can we expect to top that this year?"

"The Grant will be accepted by the Clementine Nichols Charitable Trust's Chairman and Executive Director, a Mr. Kordel Nichols of Boston, Massachusetts."

"Why does that name seem familiar?" Robin asked.

"Forbes magazine recently ranked Mr. Nichols twenty-first on their annual list of the Richest Americans alongside the family Mars," the faithful butler replied. "And at 27-years-old is the youngest of the top 200 listed."

"Is he cute?" Batgirl demands immediately.

"I am afraid I only had the pleasure of meeting young Mr. Nichols once, my dear child." He placed sealed envelopes next to each of their plates. "At that meeting he was incredibly handsome, but as he was only six years old at the time, I believed he would have considered the thought of beautiful young lady, such as yourself, to be infected with _cooties_." Robin and Nightwing broke out in hysterical laughter.

"Here are your invitations to the dinner, it will be held in the Cathedral Square Grand Hotel ballroom this year. It, as always, will be a black-tie affair and this year, I have taken the liberty of displacing of your sneaker collection, so you may not wear another pair of dingy white basketball high tops, am I clear, Master Timothy?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he replied, as Batgirl broke out in laughter this time. Then the trio completed their meal. As Alfred took the last tray toward the infirmary, he sighed.

"I would assume that young Mr. Nichols would not have to threaten his guests to attend such a gala event at gunpoint."

* * *

"_Gotham City! __**HELL NO!**_" was cried out so loudly it could _almost_ be heard all the way in Kordel's Economics classroom on the Snow Valley campus.

"Yes, you two, _Gotham City_!" Sean repeated. "Kordel is receiving a funding grant from the Wayne Foundation for his college scholarship fund and he was given tickets to take three guests. Since you two seem to enjoy leaving the grounds, it would seem fair you would be allowed to make a weekend out of it!"

Jubilee pulled Jason close to her. "_We should tell 'em, Jay,_" she whispered. "_Maybe we can get outta this without heading to this snore-chore in Murdersville!_"

"At least _pretend _to hold out a _little _longer, Jubes!" he replied. "Gotham City smells worse than the Red Line Station at 7th and Hope," he informed the Generation X headmaster. "At least you can give us a gas mask or a jar of Vicks to counter the stench."

"You two, along with a currently-unnamed student, shall accompany Agent Nichols to the award dinner this Saturday night. You will receive the itinerary for the weekend later today. The dinner will be a formal event so tomorrow afternoon you will both be headed into Boston to get a tuxedo for you, Jason, and a dress for you, Jubilee. You will both be polite, well mannered, and I dare say, you may even_ enjoy_ the trip."

"Not likely, Irish. When I was with the X-Men, Wolvie told me he once had to 'trol Gotham once to nab some big game poacher. They have such a lower class of scumbag than they do in _Lowtown_."

"Lass, I _also _was with the X-Men then," Sean reminded her. "Logan told us of that trip, do you remember how that one ended?"

Jubilee lights up with that memory and for the first time all day she reverts back to her old self. "Yeah I _DO!_ Maybe this trip won't be so bad after all!"

"Do I even ask, Jubes?"

"You'd rather not, lad."

"Don't worry, Irish," She told him. "I won't tell him what happened. _Well, not until we get there, at least!_ So who is the third unlucky victim, I mean, _guest__?"_

"Unless someone else misbehaves again today, the first student who asks me why Emma has decided to hold her Biology class this afternoon via teleconference from her field office in Barcelona, will be tasked to go. You are both dismissed and are to return to your Economics class. It should be wrapping up now."

"I got twenty bucks that says it's Monet."

"You're on, Jay," the young pyrotechnic agreed as they exited the headmaster's office. "But I'm layin' a twenty that says it's gonna be _Hayseed_!"

As the door shut softly behind them, the X-Man sighed. "I would assume that Mr. Wayne would not have to threaten his guests to attend such a gala event at gunpoint!"

* * *

"…So while we have time left in this hour," Kordel said as he took up a piece of chalk, "we shall review the chapter you all have just read," He then wrote on the board the title of the chapter they were studying: **Personal Accounts.**

"Many persons consider the keeping track of personal accounts a useless waste of time and energy," the Secret Service Agent/instructor began. "The reason for this is largely due to the fact that the average person does not know how to keep account records properly and is not willing to spend even a few minutes each day in recording the day's expenditures," Cyrus Parkman raised his hand. "Yes, Mr. Parkman?"

"I have a PayPal account that my folks, or rather, the NCO's at signals, gave me and they manage all your payments and stuff on their site. So why do we need to write these things down when you can track these things on-line?"

"For one thing, Mr. Parkman," he told the President's son, "what if you do not have computer access to the internet?"

He raised his hand again.

"_Or_ access via a mobile telephone?"

The hand lowers.

"But for the sake of the argument here, you receive a bank statement via the United States Postal Service…."

Angelo Espinosa's hand rose.

"…_while bearing in mind that computer and other advanced communication systems are also non-functioning for the time being."_

His hand lowers as well.

"When you open the statement, the bank lists charges that you do not recall. And it fails to post several large deposits leaving you with almost to no available funds to purchase, food, rent, your car payment, or even playoff tickets for the Bruins.

"It is almost impossible to practice any systematic plan of spending money, or of saving it, if one does not keep an accurate account of all money received and paid out, including saving purchase receipts for tax and other accounting purposes. The accounts may be kept in a simple form, for instance. A very good friend of mine to this day, keeps several shoeboxes filled with receipts: Bills paid in one, expenditures receivable in another and so on. They may be more elaborate, depending upon the number of expenditures and the information desired, say, several charge accounts and other monthly bills.

"The keeping of accounts is a definite help in planning the expenditures for a given time. At the beginning of each month and each year you should make some plans regarding the expenditures for the next month or current year. But how can this be done if no accounts have been kept on which to base your planning?

"Few persons who do not keep accounts can save in any systematic way. They do not know where to begin. If accounts have been kept, a careful study of the record will reveal expenditures here and there that could have been saved.

"A recent Rand Cooperation study of the early life of almost every person who has attained financial success showed that a systematic keeping of accounts and a plan of systematic saving were practiced early in their lives. Do you have a question, Miss St. Croix?"

"Does those study results include yourself, Agent Nichols?"

"I still have the dollar bill my father gave me on my fifth birthday, Miss. St. Croix.

"Also," he continued, "the keeping of personal expenditure receipts will also combat the rising problem of identity theft. My first assignment with the United States Secret Service was to investigate an identity theft ring who defrauded thousands of innocent victims for almost one million dollars. They operated in the San Francisco Bay Area obtaining banking information by simply taking retail store and automated teller receipts from trash cans located near places of business and near those machines. So another lesson, here, is to always save your receipts."

"Or a better lesson is to use cash, homes. 'Cause they can't trace a homeless $10 bill."

_Watch it, Mr. Espinosa!_ Kordel thought to himself as most of the class chuckled. _One more outburst like that and you'll win a weekend trip complete with dinner!_

At that moment the missing students had finally returned from Sean Cassidy's office.

"Please do not bother to sit down you two," Kordel informed them. "We are finished with the hour. After lunch Ms. Frost will be conducting a Biology class in the Lecture Hall instead of her usual classroom. So, are there any questions before I dismiss you all?"

Paige raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss. Guthrie?"

"Do you know why Ms. Frost decided to hold her class from her office in Spain? She usually doesn't hold classes of that nature over the telecom feed."

"You know, Hayseed," Jubilee spoke before Kordel could answer, "Irish mentioned something about it to us a few ticks ago, if you go to his office right after class you can ask him, he'll still be there."

"Thanks, Jubes!" she said and she was the first to leave the classroom, while Jubilee held up Jono and Angelo and Cyrus by holding up her hands, to confused looks by all the remaining students.

"Damn, Jubes!" Jason remarked. "I thought she was your homegirl?"

"She is," she replied. "But I can get her a mondo-huge "sorry-to-sucker-you-into this" card with that twenty bucks you owe me!" She rubbed her fingers together as Jason removed a bill from his wallet and handed it to her. "Why didn't _you _ask someone on _your _team to go with you, Jay?"

"Because, I prefer to piss them off as _little _as possible!" he remarked.

"What's all this about, Jubes?" Cyrus asked.

"Just filling out Secret Agent Dude's dance card, Gumbo, Jr."

"_**GOTHAM CITY!**_**"** was _definitely_ heard all the way from Sean's office.

Kordel placed his hands on his waist and glared at the pair.

"You see that, Jay?" Jubilee quipped while indicating towards Agent Nichols. "That look reminds me of Hank when he gets confused."

"What just happened, _Iakona_?"

"Jubilation Lee," Jay said in his best game show host voice, "tell our studio audience what you've _just won_!"

* * *

_End of Part two_

**_©David D. Amaya 2013_**


	3. Chapter 3

**The "Big Mutant On Campus" Series**  
**By David D. Amaya**

_**Part Eight "**__**A Knight on the Town**_"  
**_Chapter 3  
_**

Disclaimer: As per usual is at the beginning of the journey.

* * *

While Agent Nichols escorted Kilowatt back to his family in the nation's capital early Friday morning, Jubilee, Paige, and Jason received the itinerary for the Martha Wayne Foundation's Endowment Dinner the next night. The rest of their Generation X teammates, _save Monet St. Croix_, would be watching the newest blockbuster 3-D film at the AMC on Tremont St. near Boston Common, Friday afternoon. Meanwhile the other three would all be fitted for formal wear for the dinner and the cocktail party to follow.

Despite his growing reputation of being a street brawler, Jason showed his three classmates he cleans up rather stunningly, choosing a classical-styled Calvin Klein tuxedo, which looked _SO_ good on his body that it turned several heads in the store, leading him to decide to purchase it instead of letting Nichols rent it for him this weekend. His ensemble included: the cummerbund, the bow tie (which Jubilee lost a bet with Paige that he _can_ tie it on himself), suspenders, matching cufflinks, and the telephone number of the 18-year-old sales clerk, who slipped it in the jacket pocket while humming ZZ Top's _'Sharp Dressed Man,'_ leading to a ribbing by the three girls, _and a slap by his girlfriend later in the evening_.

After the young man was fully attired for the evening, Armani supplied washed silk dresses for the young ladies, which were chosen with the assistance of Monet's_ expert consultation_. And just so her classmates would not feel that she was left out, Monet felt _obligated _to purchase several dresses for herself.

After _four hours_ of shopping on Agent Nichols' credit card, all three students were declared by Monet ready for their trip to Gotham City, (although Jason will remind Alea and his brothers that since he doesn't wear jewelry and already owns a watch, he _was _ready to return after only _45 minutes_, so he too, caught a late matinee while the ladies hit Tiffany & Co. for the proper accessories and got back with _plenty of time to spare_).

Early the next afternoon, after they were packed and ready to go, Sean drove the three students to nearby Walter Koladza Airport in Great Barrington, where their economics and creative writing teacher, as well as Ororo, Remy, Sam, and Dr. McCoy, and a Gulfstream G550 private jet, was waiting for the trip to drop the four at Novak Airfield, Gotham City, while the senior members of the X-Men headed to Metropolis on an errand for Professor Xavier.

Once across the river from the city and an hour-long limousine ride, as they had to detour over the Bob Kane Bridge _(the Trigate Bridge was closed for emergency repairs), _the three young mutants and the Secret Service agent were let out in front of the Cathedral Square Grand Hotel.

"Jar of Vicks, anyone?" Jason asked, producing a blue jar filled with mentholated topical cream from his Ice Dogs jacket.

"You do realize, Mr. Delano, that the manufacture warns against its use near the mouth or in the nostrils because that product contains camphor?"

"You can breathe through your mouth if you want, One-Time," Jason replied as he applied a small amount under the philtrum cleft above his upper lip. "Besides, this stuff comes in lemony sent."

"Heck, I'll take a hit!" Jubilee dipped her left pinky in the jar and also dabbed her upper lip as they entered the hotel lobby. When they arrived at the front desk, they were checked into…

"The Penthouse Suite! _Radical__!"_ Jubilee commented in the elevator. "I knew you were cool _and__ handsome_, but I didn't know rollin' with you would _pay off_!"

"This suite was the only accommodations in the city that has four available bedrooms on_ the same floor,_ Jubes."

"_Still _don't trust us, Secret Agent dude?"

"Remember, two of you are supposed to be punished for leaving the grounds without authorization. I am tasked to keep an eye on you two _especially,_" As the private elevator opened, it revealed a spacious entry foyer.

"Golly!" Paige exclaimed. "The house I grew up in would fit in the hallway!"

The Generation X girls dashed into the expansive living room, where they were enthralled by a breathtaking view of the Lower North-East, with Grant Park being a noticeable green expanse. Due north was Miller Harbor, and across from that was the Gotham Financial District. Further exploring the 1,800 square feet of luxurious space, they were amazed with the marble baths in each room, the outrageously large boudoir with a make-up and dressing area for later this evening and the complementary plush bathrobes, which _no _penthouse suite is complete without.

"A gal can certainly get used to this!" Jubilee exclaimed, haven exchanged her yellow trench coat for the softness of a robe as she plopped in the center of the king sized bed in one of the bedrooms.

"Agent Nichols, what happened to our bags?"

"The bellhops use a different elevator to reach this level, Miss Guthrie. They shall be here in a few minutes. And while you three are waiting, I have a request to make to each of you, if you all will join me in the sitting room."

"Like what, Secret Agent dude?" Jubilee hopped off the bed and joined them in the room.

"That very phrase, Jubes," he explained as all three sat on a large sofa, Jason sitting on one of its arms. "For the duration of this evening, I would implore that none of you refer to my employment with the United States Secret Service, nor that you attend the Academy with the son of the President of the United States."

"What's the matter, One Time?" Jason asked. "Don't want the Old Money to know you're slummin' on the government's dime?"

"Jason!" Paige smacked his shoulder. "Why do you _have_ to be such a jerk sometimes!?"

"That is quite all right, Miss Guthrie," Kordel informed her. "Though his remark _is _crude, it is also _correct_." Jason put on a satisfying look, in response; Paige stuck her tongue out at him. "Many of the quasi-aristocratic families in attendance utilize events such as this as a way to explain their high-society lifestyle and I do not wish to get into an argument with someone pretending their inherited wealth makes them truly élite."

"But ain't that the reason you dragged us all this way?" Jubilee asked. "I thought you came here to take their money and put it to good use!"

"Most of these yuppie larvae only give their money away to feel better about themselves, Jubes!" Jason replied.

"That's a little harsh, Jason," Paige remarked. "A lot of celebrities, like Bono of U2, utilize their fame and celebrity for good causes."

"My point, Miss Guthrie, is this;" Kordel observed. "How many other multi-billion dollar superstars are nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize _three times_ for their philanthropy? Self-absorbed débutantes like Veronica Vreeland and Silver St. Cloud like to lay claim on the red carpet that they are philanthropists, but secretly they believe the purpose of philanthropy is tribute and self-aggrandizement. Why else is there a rarity of large anonymous donations to worthy causes by these members of the trust fund set?

"Besides, if they make a connection to my support for the Scholarship Fund and my work for the government, they may assume it to could be a taxable expense and the funding could dry up."

"So you hate the stink of their snobbery enough that you have to hold your nose with one hand," Jubilee noted, "but you don't mind taking their loot like Robin Hood with the other, takin' from the greedy and givin' it to the needy?"

"In just _one _word and in your parlance, Jubes," Kordel replied. "_**Yeah**__**!**_"

"Just making sure whose team we're playing on Lariat of Loxley, or is it really the Sheriff of Snow Valley in disguise!"

The three Academy students broke out in uncontrolled laughter.

"Sir Jay, hand this noble knight a jar of Vicks! Maid Paige," she grabbed her hand as the two of them rose to their feet, "let us away!" and the two giggled as they entered the boudoir.

"Remind me the next time you get in trouble to have you cut the rear lawn with a pair of_ fingernail clippers_, Jubes!" Kordel strode to the master bedroom as the doorbell rang, alerting them to someone in the foyer "That is most likely the luggage. Please inspect your formal wear; if they need to be pressed I shall contact the front desk. Mr. Delano answer the door, if you would, please."

Jason opened the door, but instead of the hotel's red-capped porter, a single gentleman wearing spotless white gloves was waiting. "I am looking for Mr. Kordel Nichols, young sir."

"Glad to say that I'm _not_," he countered. "And _you _are?"

"Alfred Pennyworth, retainer to Mr. Bruce Wayne of the Martha Wayne Foundation, young man," He presented his employer's business card to him.

Jason whistled loudly, prompting Agent Nichols to enter the foyer, barefoot. "Mr. Delano, could you have been any more ill-mannered?"

To which Jason belched, making the Secret Service agent flush with annoyance. "Now, _aren't you glad you asked_?" he retorted tossing him the card as he left the hall.

"And remind me the next time _you_ get into trouble to ask Miss. Kaulalona for the most humiliating thing to punish you with!"

"Like being a Red _Sux _fan?" he called out, on his way to his assigned bedroom.

"My apologies, Mr. Pennyworth," He addressed the man at the doorway. "It seems _that _is the lasting impression I leave in this city."

"That is quite alright, Mr. Nichols. I shall again accept on your behalf, _alone_. But, if anyone asks me, this ordeal _never _took place," the English gentlemen assures him. "I have called to insure your stay in Gotham is pleasant while attending the hospitality of the Martha Wayne Foundation."

"Thank you, very much, Mr. Pennyworth. But my guests and I have just arrived and our luggage has not made its way up yet."

"It is so hard to find decent help in this day and age," he remarked with dry British humor. "Mr. Nichols, the award dinner shall begin promptly at 4 pm in the Grand Ballroom, your acceptance speech will start about 4:45pm. To that effect, Mr. Wayne has instructed me to offer my services. If you or your companions require anything beyond the scope of the hotel, please do not hesitate to contact Mr. Wayne, and I shall personally assure any assistance is fulfilled."

"Hey, who's that, the hotel owner?"

Kordel took a deep breath and glared at Jubilee and Paige as they entered the main room after Jason's return.

"Students, this is Mr. Alfred Pennyworth, he represents the host of the Martha Wayne Foundation. Mr. Pennyworth, it is my honor to introduce Miss Paige Guthrie of the Commonwealth of Kentucky, and Miss Jubilation Lee of Southern California," He gestured to each of his students. _"I believe you have already meet Mr. Jason Delano_. They are stellar scholars attending the Massachusetts Academy of the Berkshire Mountains. They shall accompany me to this evening's event."

"I'm very pleased to meet you all. I hope you all have a memorial evening, ladies, young man, Mr. Nichols. I shall take my leave, but my offer stands firm. Have a pleasant day, all of you, and congratulations on the endowment for the Scholarship Fund," As he turned to leave, a bellhop arrived with a large and expensive looking steamer trunk, three overnight bags as well as four garment bags.

"I do believe your luggage had finally arrived. Right this way my good sir," Alfred tells the young man. After he carefully placed the overnight bags on a couch and wheeled the steamer trunk and the garment bags towards the rear bedrooms, Kordel tipped him a fifty before he and Mr. Pennyworth left in the separate elevators.

Once the bellhop reached the safety of the service elevator, he dialed a number on his cell phone. "Yeah, boss. It's me, Eddie Ears. Listen, Boss, he's staying in the penthouse with three brats… Yeah, Boss, he even tipped me a fifty, unlike some of those other high society crumbums… Yeah, the shindig starts at 4 and it'll be goin' all night… Yeah, I'll call if they leave the hotel… You got it, Boss, don't worry… Of course, Mr. Penguin. I'll handle it personally!"

* * *

"You had better, Edward," the Penguin threatened. "Otherwise my associates will ensure your new name will be Eddie _Crutches_!" After slamming down the phone, he picked up last September's issue of Forbes Magazine.

"Ah, Mr. Kordel Nichols, lucky number twenty-one! It looks like blackjack will not be as profitable for young Mr. Nichols as it shall be for me!"

* * *

"What a shame that hand didn't payout," the Joker remarks. "Just like that poor man's blackjack you're holding now!" he breaks out into another bout of historical laughter at the Penguin's discarded hand of an Ace, a Deuce, a Trey, a six, and a nine, as Two-Face winds his second hand in a row.

"Of all the rotten luck, Dent!" the Penguin pounds his fist on the table. "I was sure you were bluffing!"

"_Monsieur Manchot_, please don't fret," the Cajun card dealer speaks up. "'De game is still young, _mon ami_. It is as my grand-_père _always say; 'Don't get mad that you lost, _Mon fils._ Get mad because you didn't _win_.'"

"And speaking of _losers_," Joker giggles. "Why don't you finish telling us how you botched this scheme, I might want take notes so I know how _not_ to screw up for future reference!"

"_Your humility is gracious as always_," the Penguin cheerlessly deadpans. "The plan was to wait until they were separated after the award ceremony and take them outside the hotel…."

* * *

The elevator opened and the quartet from the small community of Snow Valley, Massachusetts exited and made the short walk to the Grand Ballroom. Heads turned as they walked passed.

"I've said it before, and I'll never get tired of it. We are just _too cool__ for this room!"_

"I _second _that emotion, Jubes," Jay agreed as he looked over the crowd looking back at them. "Is it me, or are these people _dying_ to take notes on how to make a tux look good?"

"They're all asking themselves, '_Who are those people over there entering the room?_' And, '_Why are they here?_'" Paige remarked.

"The answers to those questions, Miss, Guthrie, are as follows," Kordel replied, the Secret Service agent himself dressed in a tailor-fitted Christian Dior. "'_Miss Paige Guthrie, Miss Jubilation Lee and Mr. Jason Delano._' And the second answer is, '_You were forced to share the same space as most of this riff-raff'_."

"Would it be in bad taste to hope one of the local bad guys tries something so we can kick some butt?" Jubilee asked. "'Cause I forgot to put those gel inserts in these heels and my dogs are barkin' already."

"I told you, ya shouldda wore your Chuck Taylor's," Jay offered. "They would have matched your dress."

"Yeah, but I _rock_ these, Jay, and they're cute on me!" She then leaned to Paige and whispered; "_We ARE still splittin' that twenty he bet you. Right, Hayseed?_"

"At least she decided to wear her _complete _ensemble," Kordel noted as they made their way to the front table. "You look outlandish in those motorcycle boots, Mr. Delano."

"At least my feet feel fine," the young man remarked. "Besides, if someone wants to make a big deal out of it, I'll just kick the crap outta them and not have to worry about another set of blood stains on my boots."

"_Please_ remember to behave yourselves, ladies and gentleman," Kordel said firmly. "We do _not _want to give our hosts an abysmal first impression."

"Just be yourselves," Paige added, then quickly overlooked both her classmates. "_You know, **on second thought….**"_

Once they made it to their assigned table, they noted there were five other chairs all with table cards indicating their indented occupant.

"Who're we sittin' next to?" Jubilee asked as she reached for one of the place cards. "_**'Richard John Grayson'**_. Sounds like a _hottie_."

"We are sharing this table with the Chairman of the Martha Wayne Foundation," Kordel explained, as he held the chair for Paige. "Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises, and his guests."

"_Wayne_, why is that name familiar?"

"It's on half the buildings in this bummed out 'burg," Jay reminded her.

"He's tied with Ms. Frost at fifth place on the Forbes 400."

"Top five you say, Hayseed?" Jubilee switched the nameplates so Gotham's most eligible bachelor was to be sitting next to her. "I wonder if he likes _younger_ women?"

"I usually have bad luck on dates, but with someone as pretty as you, miss, my luck just might improve."

Standing next to her was the reason they were seated in this Grand Ballroom this evening, standing with four companions of his own, Kordel rose for the introductions to be made.

"Good evening, Mr. Nichols," The gentleman next to him spoke up. "I'm Lucius Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and the master of ceremonies tonight," he said as he extended a hand to the Secret Service agent. "I'm glad you and your companions decided to attend this evening."

"Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Fox."

"You are certainly most welcome, Mr. Nichols. If I may, it is an honor to introduce Bruce Wayne, Chair of the Wayne Foundation."

"Thank you, Lucius. I wouldn't know what to do without you. Welcome back to Gotham City, Kordel," he extended a hand to the Boston native and the two philanthropists shook hands as flashbulbs popped, recording the moment for the Gotham Society pages. In one of which, Jubilee could not help herself from placing bunny ears behind the Secret Service agent's head, garnering snickers from the young boy behind Bruce, who saw the gesture. "I'm pleased to see you again Kordel, at least under more fortuitous circumstances. Congratulations of the endowment for your Scholarship Fund."

"It is good to be back, Mr. Wayne. This sure is a long way from a game of '_Big Blue Marble_'. On behalf of the Gary Erwin Memorial Scholarship Fund and the Clementine Nichols Charitable Trust's Executive Board, I thank you very much for this generous involvement. There will be many deserving students who will appreciate this gift for years to come."

"You're most welcome, Kordel. If I may introduce my companions this evening," Batman gestured to his partners in crime-fighting: Batgirl, Nightwing, and Robin. But Bruce maintained their secret identities, introducing them as Barbara Gordon, daughter of Gotham's Police Commissioner, Jim Gordon, Richard Grayson of Blüdhaven, and Timothy Drake, student of the Brentwood Academy.

"I am pleased to meet you all," Kordel began as he introduced three members of Generation X: Jubilee, Husk and Argus, but he, too maintained their civilian guises, introducing three stellar young scholars of the Massachusetts Academy.

They each exchanged pleasantries, with Bruce kissing both young ladies' hands.

"Nice to know all of you," Jubilee remarked. "If you are serious about that date, Bruce, I'll clear some space in my busy calendar for dinner." This caused not only him to blush.

"_Jubilee_."

"Hey," She whispered to Jason. "Don't Secret Agent dude look like Cyke when he does that?"

* * *

The dinner went without a hitch - at least, it went according to the game plan Tim Drake is used to;

Beef Wellingtons, which were _so _overdone that Mr. Nichols refused to eat it. That was served with Steamed Broccoli Spears, which were as limp as a punch from the Mad Hatter, and ending with a dessert of Pineapple Habanero Sorbet, which only Jason, Barbara, and Jubilee were brave enough to finish.

Then Mr. Fox began the award (_and the most boring_) part of the evening. First exploring the history of the Wayne Foundation, it was to be followed by both philanthropists giving short speeches. Bruce thanked the donors, many of Gotham's power élite in the Ballroom, then after the polite applause, Mr. Nichols, was to give a speech as this year's recipient of the Wayne Foundation's annual endowment, explaining the purpose and history of the Gary Erwin Memorial Scholarship Fund.

When Bruce left the podium, Kordel rose to deliver his speech.

"Excellent speech, Mr. Wayne," he complimented, shaking hands with him.

"Thanks, Kordel. But I didn't see your speech under the podium."

"Do not worry, Mr. Wayne," he assures him. "I learn to memorize all my lectures." He then took his position in front of all the assembled donors, and his students.

"Good evening to you all. I would like to start by thanking our gracious hosts, Mr. Fox, Mr. Wayne, and the Wayne Foundation board of directors, and to all the generous donors this evening for a grand welcoming back to Gotham City. When the Clementine Nichols Charitable Trust was informed it would be receiving such a generous endowment, I was asked to appear before you all to tell you a little something of the scholarships you have all contributed to…."

"I told you guys," Tim whispered to Barbara. "This is gonna be another boring speech, just like all the rest."

"_Shush!_" Paige whispered from across the table. "This story is_ anything_ but boring!"

"The scholarship the Clementine Nichols Foundation Charitable Trust is unique to the many generous college tuition assistance packages offered to college-bound students, as I, who have proudly served as Executive Director of the Scholarship Committee since day one, founded, _and _initially funded it, eight weeks before parting ways with Boston University as a graduate…."

* * *

As the speech told of a young hotshot hockey goaltender from the Roxbury neighborhood of Boston, several redcaps were behind the scenes, one in peculiar, Eddie Ears was reporting in to the gangster, whom he was retained, the events of the evening as they unfolded from his backstage position.

"Yea, Boss, he's on the stage right now, those brats with him are all in table up front… No, Boss he's sittin' with Bruce Wayne and his party… Gotcha, Boss. I'll let you know when they leave the hotel. Everything's all set… Bye, Boss."

* * *

"….The heroism that defined Gary Erwin was not created that cold, March day. Those actions were the result of virtues practiced _over a lifetime._ So the most fitting memorial we could build would not consist of marble, glass or bronze. It would be a _living memorial_, carved in our hearts and actions by bravery, courage and integrity.

"It was therefore decided that this _living memorial_, in the form of a scholarship to attend his beloved alma mater, would assist to perpetuate his values, ideals and his honor. His love of learning would be the one thing he would have wanted as a legacy.

"And thus, the Gary Erwin Memorial Scholarship Fund was born. And since that day, there has always been a deserving student going to college in his name.

"But now, because of the generosity of the Wayne Foundation, the ranks of those future scholars shall increase in numbers unthought of, merely one short year ago.

"On behalf of the Clementine Nichols Charitable Trust, and the Gary Erwin Memorial Scholarship Fund, and most importantly, all of those deserving students going to college in his name, I humbly accept this gift and thank you all for this endowment. Thank you and have a good evening!"

As he left the podium to the applause of those in attendance, he received a standing ovation starting with two young mutants in the front row. As Kordel arrived at the head table he received handshakes by everyone at the table save his students, Paige and Jubilee opted to give their teacher a hug instead.

"You were _right_," Tim apologized to Paige. "That _was _a good speech for a change. I've been going to these for a while; maybe this night won't be so boring this year."

* * *

After only an hour, Tim Drake's prophetic words rang _false_.

They were attending the after-party mixer and Jubilee's feet were killing her, Paige's painted on smile was giving her a headache and Jason looked like we has going to kill the next drunk slob who bumps into him. Even Kordel, who despised the false scene of charity, was himself thankful for the Nth time he decided not to wear his sidearm for the evening.

Meanwhile Tim was looking equally bored. _At least Barbara and Dick were dancing on the small dance floor, even if it was to old-timer's big band stuff_, he muses. _And poor Bruce - well he's used to this sort of thing, even though I know deep down how much he hates being fawned at these society events._

_Where was the Scarecrow when you really needed him?_ Tim silently asks. _I promise I'll give him a ten-minute head start when we nab him for this!_

At that time, Alfred approached and Tim did everything in his power to leap for joy.

"Alfred, I'm _so _glad to see you. So who's running amuck?"

"The streets of Gotham City are, for the time being, quiet." The English butler reported. "Though whether that is good news or not is apparently up for debate, Master Tim."

"This mixer is worse than last year, and you remember that drunk from the Planet who kept hitting on Lois Lane? I thought Clark was going to punt him from here to Madrid!"

"Chin up, dear boy," Alfred attempted to calm the young man down. "It could be worse."

A noise coming from his left informed the duo it _was _worse.

* * *

"Come on sweetness!" some oblivious drunken college boy slurred at Paige as she was carrying a tray of three glasses of punch for her, Jubilee and Jason who moved to the other side of the room. "My daddy has a room on the second floor, and your dress will look even better crumpled on the foot of a queen sized bed." He then threw his arm around her shoulders. "Whaddaya say, baby?"

"Just two things," Paige sat down the tray on the table next to her, then picked his arm from the wrist and removed it from her person. "Go away, _and use mouthwash!_"

* * *

"Well it may not be the Ventriloquist, Master Tim," Alfred remarked, "But, here is your chance to rescue fair maiden from the clutches of this drunken cad's _act_ of superiority."

"Why not? Bruce always says 'You can either _act _superior, or just _be _superior. Start with treating everybody with dignity, _until they deserve otherwise_,'" He said as he handed Alfred his tuxedo jacket. "If anything, it'll at least, break up the monotony."

* * *

"Come on, sugar!" he slurred, oblivious to her spurning his advance. "Do you know who my uncle is?"

"A man who is disappointed in his nephew?" She countered. She retrieved the tray and attempted to walk away.

He then grabbed her arm knocking the tray full of drinks out of her hand. _"Don't walk away from me, bitch!"_

Paige looked shocked, and contemplated decking him square in the eye. _Dang it! _She thought. _Where is Jubes when you need her?_

Suddenly, a 12-year-old boy stepped between them.

"Paige, there you are," he said. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" Tim smacked the drunk's hand off Paige. "Let's go get some more punch."

Then he turned to the drunk. "You can go now, buster!" Then he allowed Paige to step away from him.

* * *

Meanwhile across the ballroom, Jay was sitting at a table with Jubilee who finally decided to remove her shoes.

"No amount of punishment is worth this, Jay," Jubilee groaned. "I'm tempted to do something embarrassing just to get sent to our penthouse suite. And _maybe _tell Secret Agent dude where we went that morning. _Anything _to get out of this cocktail party hell!"

"Don't think you're the Lone Ranger, _kemosabe_!" he replied. "I'm still manning the fort with you! I'm ready to risk a night in the Gotham City slammer to knock one of these drunk-ass fools out! It's a good thing I'm wearing my biker boots! I'm telling you, Jubes, what we need is someone to beat up!"

"What we _need_, _Tonto_, is to hit a Qucki-Mart to score a couple of Mega-Sized Brain Freezes!"

"Thanks, Jubes! Now I'm _really _thirsty! Where the hell's Corn Pone with that watered-down Kool-Aid?"

"There's Hayseed," Jubilee pointed out. "Who's that drunk-ass frat boy?"

Jason removed his wristwatch, and began taking off his cufflinks. "Our first victim, _if we're lucky_!"

"_Oh, _no you don't!" Jubilee took off her earrings and bracelets and putting them in her bag. "If I can't shower him in sparks you can't kick his ass no matter what he does to Paige."

"So if he tried something and I can't beat him up, so does that mean I can go straight to shanking this _chavala_?" he asked as he tucked the hem of his pants into the cuffs of his boots.

"No, but I say we deal with him _creatively_," She stood up in her bare feet. "We save Hayseed, and have some fun with this situation and _maybe __squeeze a happy memory outta it."_

"I'm game for a challenge, what do you have in mind, Jubes?"

* * *

_End of Part three_

**_©David D. Amaya 2013_**


	4. Chapter 4

**The "Big Mutant On Campus" Series**  
**By David D. Amaya**

_**Part Eight **__**"**__**A Knight on the Town**_"  
**_Chapter 4 _**

_**Disclaimer:**_ As per usual is at the beginning of the journey.

* * *

"Hey, kid!" the drunk slurred, poking at Tim. "Ain't it past yer bedtime?"

"Isn't it time _you_ left to sleep off all that cheap beer, _buster_?" he retorted as he shoved his hand away.

"Whaddaya gonna do, little man?"

"Nothing, if you don't force me to."

Suddenly, a pair of teenagers, one in a Calvin Klein tux and the other in a silk Armani dress, shoved passed the drunk. "Tommy, Paige!" she said draping her arms around them both. "Jay-Jay dear, I found them! Let's blow this popsicle stand you guys!"

They start to leave as a group but the drunk blocks their way. "Who the hell're you?"

"That's my sister and my girlfriend," Jay said. "And _that's_ your clue to _leave_, _cabrón!_"

"Who's yer girl and who's yer sister?" he slurred.

"Does it really matter?" Jubilee replied. "'Cause we're both _way_ outta your league. Now do yourself a favor, and go away." She dismissed him with a flick of her wrist. "We are taking young Tommy here to somewhere with a better quality of drunk."

He moved to block their way.

"Who the hell d'you think you are? _Nobody_ talks ta _me_ like that!"

"That's because people _avoid_ you," Tim replied. "You need a shower and your breath stinks like hot garbage."

"Oh, Tommy!" Jubilee ruffled his hair. "You always know just the poetic words to sum up a situation. Now be a dear and lead the way."

They began to leave again but the drunk pushed Jay roughly. "You ain't going _anywhere_ with _my_ bitch!"

Jay's eyes narrowed at his intended victim, his right leg raised behind him. "There ain't anything for you here but heartache and pain, _motherfucker_! You can walk away now or _I'll make you famous!"_

"You think you can beat me, Blondie!"

"The only thing gonna beat you, _besides me,_ is the headlights of the ambulance I'll put you in racing your ass to the hospital!"

The drunk balled up his fist and drew it back to strike the young man….

Until Gotham's clumsiest socialite stumbled into him and the pair crashed to the floor.

"Oh, I am _so_ sorry!" Bruce Wayne apologized as the man he fell on the floor and groaned. "I just get so giddy after a few gimlets. Please allow me to help you up."

The drunk just got pissed. "I'm gonna _fuck you up_, _Wayne!_" He grabbed one of the broken glasses on the floor and as he stood back up, he held it like a weapon, the jagged edge facing out as he waved it in a menacing fashion towards Bruce and the kids. "Who's first?"

"_**That would be me.**_**"**

Turning around to face the voice, he came face to face with Kordel Nichols, who was wearing his badge in the cummerbund of his Christian Dior tuxedo.

"_United States Secret Service,_" he identified himself to the drunk as he took off his jacket. "Drop the weapon and take two steps back! You are inebriated and are under arrest."

The drunk lunged at Kordel and lacerated his arm. Kordel then used his jacket to cover the glass as he wrestled it out of the drunk's grasp, then held him in a hammer lock all the way to the floor as Paige and Jubilee restrained Jason from intervening.

Producing his Service handcuffs, Kordel brought him back to his knees in a control position as Alfred, Barbara, and Dick arrived on the scene.

"Do you know who I am!?" he yelled from his knees. "Do you know who my _UNCLE_ is? My _father_ is friends with the _Police __Commissioner_!"

"You mean your daddy knows _THE_ commissioner of _THE_ Gotham City Police Department!" Barbara said mockingly. "Gee, Richie, if only _I_ knew someone _RELATED_ to the Police Commissioner!" This snarky remark caused Tim and Dick to laugh.

"Do you know this person, Miss. Gordon?"

"Afraid so, Kordel," she admitted. "That's Richard Krol; he's the _FORMER_ mayor's nephew."

"Mr. Grayson, please contact hotel security," Kordel instructed him, "and inform them to contact the Police Department. I am placing this man under arrest."

"I didn't do nothin'! I'll be out in fifteen minutes for D&D!"

"Drunk and disorderly are the least of your concerns," Kordel removed his badge and displayed it closer to his face. "Richard Krol, _**you are under arrest for assault with a deadly weapon on a federal law enforcement officer!"**_

He brought him to his feet and began to force him out of one of the nearby side doors to get him away from the crowd into a service hallway as he read him his Miranda rights. The group, hot on the pair's heels, returned into the now crowded hall. Krol slipped away from Kordel's grasp to escape only long enough for him to fall to the ground as Jason stopped him with a knee strike to his solar plexus. Two GCPD officers arrived on the scene along with the hotel's security staff.

"Officers, I am Special Agent Kordel Nichols of the United States Secret Service," he informed them, displaying his badge. "This man is under arrest for assaulting a federal officer with a deadly weapon. Please take him into custody."

As the officers took him out of the hallway, Paige noticed;

"_Agent Nichols, you're bleeding!"_

Barbara took a napkin from a server's tray and wrapped it around the red wound on his right arm. "Are you in pain, Kordel? Do you need to be taken to the hospital?"

"I am quite all right, Miss Gordon," he told her. "I am not seriously wounded. I have been injured in the line of duty on several occasions, though I must admit I was on stand down for the weekend."

"You really should go to the hospital, Agent Nichols," Paige implored her teacher. "That cut looks nasty."

"I shall be fine, Miss Guthrie," he assured her. "The three of you, we are headed back up to the hotel suite. I shall summon the hotel's medical staff from there.

"If it's all the same to you, Kordel," Bruce offered. "I know a doctor that makes house calls."

* * *

Half an hour later, Dr. Leslie Thompkins finished suturing Agent Nichols' wounds in the penthouse suite's master bedroom. Bruce, Alfred, Barbara, Dick and Tim waited in the sitting room as Jubilee, Paige and Jason changed out of their formal attire.

"….the incident has been classified by Executive Order 84220," Bruce informed them. "The President's son is attending an undisclosed school under an assumed name since last month."

To the four in the sitting room with him, hearing something others would call "outrageous" would not faze these battle hardened crime fighters, but hearing that a man in the top 25 of the country's wealthiest people protected and rescued the son of President Anthony Parkman was a shock that _even they_ didn't hear every day.

"Goodness!" Barbara exclaimed. "That explains why he was so stiff at the mixer; he has as little respect for the socialite set as you do."

"Whoa, that's major, Bruce!" Tim replied. "Why didn't any of us recognize him? Once we all got back from the Outback you were ready to fly to Washington to help find the Parkman kid."

"He has never allowed himself to be interviewed - not for that incident, not when he was playing hockey for Boston University, and not for his scholarship fund, that's why this year no television crews or reporters were invited inside the after-party mixer, except for Maria Eric of the _Gotham Globe,_ whom I asked as a personal favor to only ask him questions pertaining to the endowment for those reasons."

"Too weird," Dick shook his head. "It's uncanny."

"What is?"

"Look at it like this, Barbara," he continued. "Kordel is all the things Bruce is in public, and everything that he _truly is,_ but carrying a badge, not wearing a mask. He even took a shank to the arm like he does."

"I concur, Master Dick, he did not allow his status to interfere with his since of duty for one moment - so long as that young lady, Miss Guthrie, was unhurt."

"Yeah, about that, that was a good move stepping in like that, Tim."

"What can I say, Barbara. It got us outta there didn't it?"

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay, Paige?"

"Yeah, Jubes, I'm all right," she replied as they changed into more comfortable clothes, "I knew there'd be a lot of drunks at that shindig, but I didn't expect **that** to happen!" Paige shuddered.

"Honestly, if I thought that guy was that much of a creep I'da roasted him with sparks instead of forcing Jay not to kick his butt right away!"

"I was just worried about Mr. Wayne," she said as they left the bedroom joining Jason, who was already changed. "He nearly got hurt because he slipped into that jerk!"

"That drunk fool must have a guardian angel looking after him."

"Why do you say that, Jay?"

Jay raised his knee in the same one leg stance his heel in line with his hand, he reached into the cuff of his Harley-Davidson boot and extracted his switchblade from it.

"Where I'm from, Guthrie, when a lady says 'no,' _it means_ '_NO,_'" He clicked the weapon open to emphasize his conviction, but startled Paige in the process. "I'd've carved that on his _forehead_ if Wayne hadn't saved his sorry ass!"

"Didn't Agent Nichols ask you _NOT_ to bring _that_ to Gotham City?"

"One-Time didn't come here unarmed, Cornpone, and I _damn sure_ wouldn't _ever_ enter this fucked up town without being strapped."

* * *

"…that's when Alfred called me over. I sent him to get Kordel, but I knew that young man could have done something he might have regretted."

"What do you mean, Bruce?"

"When Krol shoved him, Jason settled into a muay Thai stance. Did you notice he had his slacks tucked into his motorcycle boots, Dick?" he asked. "They weren't when they entered the ballroom earlier this evening. I'm sure he has a knife or a shiv in his right boot. And I'm also positive he was going to use it on Krol."

"So _that's_ why you stumbled into him, Master Bruce. You were saving Krol from _himself_."

"If I knew he was going to grab that broken glass like he did, I would have done something different, Alfred."

"No, Mr. Wayne," Kordel spoke from the doorway, wearing a white Under Armor shirt. His right upper arm was tightly bandaged. "What you _should_ have done, was keep your distance and be a good eyewitness. He was inebriated and armed with an improvised weapon. He could have injured you severely.

"Thank you, Dr. Thompkins," Kordel said as he wrote something on a business card before handing it to her. "Please send the bill to this address. If there are any concerns, please contact me at the telephone number on the back. Also, please forward the collected debris and the photographs you took to the police forensics laboratory, it may be introduced at trial as evidence." At that moment his students entered the sitting room.

"You're most welcome, Agent Nichols." She then turned to the three Generation X students. "Is anyone else injured, young miss?" She looked over to Paige who shook her head. "Young man?" Jason said no. "Tim?" He also shook his head. "_Bruce?_" she glared at Bruce the way Kordel does his own students.

"No really, I'm fine," he replied, which the good doctor had a hard time believing. "I just stumbled; I must have tripped over my shoelaces."

"Thank you once again, doctor," Kordel said gently taking her hand in his. "I hope this scratch was no real hassle."

"_Scratch_, Agent Nichols? I had to remove several slivers of crystal from your right bicep. If that was a _scratch_, what's a _major wound?_"

"My last partner was shot thirty times in the line of duty in service to his county, Doctor. He keeps every extracted projectile in a trophy case in his office and utilizes two as a pair of matching cufflinks."

"_My, doesn't that sound like someone I've heard of? _Thanks for calling me, Alfred," she collected her medical bag. "If that is all, I should be heading back to the clinic. I assume I'll be seeing you _very soon, Bruce._" With that, she left the Penthouse Suite.

Jubilee clasped her hands together loudly. "Well, that was a _fun_ hoedown! The fancy Hot Pockets were _rubbery_, the broccoli tasted like _turtle slime_, the Pineapple ice cream was nice, but that couldda been spicier! Then we have Hayseed get hit on, a drunk get hit back, Secret Agent dude whooped some butt and Jay even got a shot in, and heck, the new kid was first on the scene! Man, I feel left out of all the mayhem!" She lowered her head in shame.

Then she looked out the window and noted that sun was just starting to dip into the western skyline. She clasped her hands again. "But it's just gettin' dark! If we hit the pavement now, we'll have the whole night to get our freak on!"

"_Jubilee!"_ Kordel scolded his student. "Are you forgetting that the two of you are supposed to be _penalized_ for leaving the Academy grounds?"

"After what we just suffered through," Jason remarked. "I think we're even, One-Time! As I recall all you guys got a Danish a piece out of it. What did we get out of this?"

"He paid for our dresses, Jason," Paige reminded him.

"Big deal, Guthrie! I paid for my tux _myself!_ Besides, _who do you think paid for those Danishes?_" He then heard Alfred clear his throat and he suddenly recalled they were not alone in the suite. "If you guys wanna stay for the later rounds, it's gonna cost you five bucks apiece." The doorbell to the suite broke the uncomfortable silence. Alfred answered the door and Detective Montoya and Barbara's father entered the room.

"Good to see you, daddy," she said as she gave her father a hug and a kiss in the cheek that left Commissioner Gordon blushing and his detective giggling.

"It's good to see you, too, Princess," he then lowered his voice to a whisper, "_but please, not in front of the troops_!" He then made his way to the man with the bandage on his arm and a fed's badge on his waistband.

"Jim Gordon, GCPD," he said as an introduction, extending his hand. "This is one of my best investigators, Detective Sergeant Renee Montoya, Major Crimes Unit. She will be handling the investigation into this matter."

"Special Agent Kordel Nichols, United States Secret Service," Kordel shook his and Detectives Montoya's hands. "Was the crystal glass Krol used recovered from the ballroom, Commissioner?"

"My CSI boys found it right away, Agent Nichols. When Mayor Hill heard Armand Krol's idiotic nephew threatened several people at a charity event, then assault a Secret Service agent, he asked me to personally supervise the investigation, that's why I put Detective Montoya on this, she is one of my finest officers."

"Why don't we move to the dining table and we can begin the interviews?" Kordel indicated with his left arm.

"It would be best if you accompany us, Downtown, sir," Detective Montoya suggested.

"And while _you_ get grilled for a change, One-Time," Jason countered. "We're gonna hit the bricks - you know, get some _air_." He dabbed his nose with another spot of Vicks. "And three Brain Freezes, _if _we can find a Qucki-Mart around here."

"There's one on 12th and Nolan," Tim spoke up.

"You cannot leave, students," he replied. "Detective Montoya will need to interview you as to what happened in the Ballroom."

"I damn sure ain't staying cooped up in here!" Jason responded, "and I'm _not_ going to the Joint _willingly_!"

"No, that's all right, Agent Nichols," Detective Montoya replied. "CSI has the security footage, and if I need their statements I can arrange for them first thing in the morning."

"You're all outta excuses now, Secret Agent, dude," Jubilee explained to the Federal Officer. "We ain't gonna wait around here for you to get sweated by the Man. And if you stay here, we'd be forced to sneak out when you're not lookin'. So, it's either you wave goodbye to us now, or we pull a disappearing trick faster than you can say, '_A-la-peanut-butter-sandwiches!_'"

"The choice is yours, Super Cop," Jay added. "And I don't do anything behind your back 'cause I ain't afraid to do 'em to your face."

"Maybe they're right, Kordel," Bruce spoke up. "And Tim can accompany them - he knows Gotham like the back of his hand. Right, Tim?"

"Why not?" he replied. "This night couldda been worse. I'm in! That is, if they don't mind."

"Of _course_ we don't mind," Paige answered. _"Right guys?"_ When she asked this, her teammates' expressions soured greatly at the mention of a forth musketeer.

Those same expressions told Kordel that, despite their penchant for getting into mischief that Sean had warned him about on _countless occasions_ within in the past _month_, he was sure that the addition of someone they would not use their mutant gifts around gave him a sense of security.

"Very well, students," he replied. Defeated, _again_, by these teenagers, he wrote something on a small notepad and then he tossed it to Paige. "Miss Guthrie, please write each of your mobile telephone numbers in case I need to contact you, and also input mine in case you have an emergency and need to contact me."

"If you lads and ladies would like," Alfred spoke up, "I shall procure a rental car for the evening and will have it ready for you within the half-hour at the front entrance."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Pennyworth," Paige replied. "That's so nice of you."

Jason pulled a platinum card out of his wallet, handed it to Alfred, and whispered something in his ear.

"Of course, young man. That can be easily arranged. Timothy, why don't you head downstairs and change into something more appropriate for an evening on the town."

"If that's all settled," Commissioner Gordon started as he opened the door to the foyer, "I think we all should be headed out so you can enjoy the rest of the evening as soon as possible, Agent Nichols."

* * *

Several minutes later, the group was all standing outside the Cathedral Square Grand Hotel. Three sedans pulled to the front drive: a 1952 Bentley Mark VI to be used by Dick and Barbara on a dinner date; an unmarked 2009 Crown Victoria Police Interceptor that Detective Montoya was driving to take Commissioner Gordon, Agent Nichols, and Mr. Wayne to GCPD headquarters to be interviewed about the incident in the Ballroom; and a new model Ford Mustang GT Convertible that Alfred had procured for the kids to drive around town.

"See ya later, Secret Agent dude," Jubilee told him as he sat in the back seat of the cop car. "But while you're at the clink, you might wanna make reservations for us, you know, _just in case!_ The Commish here can get us the best cell in the joint, the one with least amount of rats!"

Montoya chuckled at the young mutant's words as Kordel narrowed his eyes at the young pyrotechnic. "Please do not force me change my mind, Jubes!"

"Don't worry, Agent Nichols," Tim told him. "I think we'll just get into typical teenage mischief for a change! I'll call in a few hours to check in, Bruce," he told his mentor and guardian.

"Well, I for one am not worried, Tim," Bruce replied.

"_Well, I'd be worried if I were you, mister!"_

"_**Jubilee!"**_

"I have made reservations for you at La Côte d'Or," Alfred informed Dick and Barbara. "And if, for reasons unforeseen, you two shall require an ensemble _of the less then comfortable variety_, a matching set shall be in availability in the boot section."

"Thanks, Alfred," Barbara kissed him on the cheek. "but let's hope the Wayne Foundation dinner curse holds up for a change. I hear their Lobster Thermidor is to die for!"

"Well, Jason. What are we going to do now that we're here?"

"The first thing we're gonna do, Guthrie," he explained, "is to get something malnutritious to eat, then gas this sled up and get a round of Brain Freezes. After that we'll go crusin' down the main drag until something better comes our way, and if we're lucky, someone's gonna be stupid enough to try to mug us."

Paige looked shocked at his itinerary.

"Hey, I was just kidding! _But not really._"

"You do know that Gotham City has the highest crime rate on the Eastern seaboard, Jason?"

"_Yeah, I do! _But I've survived fifteen foster homes, two orphanages, and Juvie! So I say to Gotham City: _Do your worst, __**if you dare!**_**"** he called to the sprawling towers of Gotham. Then he had a revelation. "You know, Guthrie, this is the _perfect_ opportunity to toughen you up!"

"Now that transportation has been arranged for all," Alfred reported to the group, "I shall bid you all a pleasant and _uneventful_ evening."

As the three cars pulled away from the hotel, Kordel could not help feel a pang of dread. The only times he's felt like that was a prelude to weapons being drawn.

"Don't worry, Kordel," Bruce assures the Secret Service agent. "I know Tim will make sure they won't run into trouble."

"I am not concerned that they will run _into_ trouble, Mr. Wayne. What _I am_ concerned with is that trouble will run into _them!_"

Alfred watched his charges leave to various parts of the city, and he, as they all were, remained unaware that they were being watched by forces in a beat-up Ford Taurus.

"Yeah, boss, he and Wayne left with Gordon headed to lock-up…. I don't know, boss, but I heard some snobs say he knocked out that drunk Krol, so maybe he's getting arrested!…. No, the brats are all in a rental car and headed for Uptown Gotham…. Yeah, boss we're on 'em, you can count on us, Mr. Penguin…. let's go Bobby, I think I know where they're headed to first!"

* * *

_End of Part four_

**_©David D. Amaya 2013_**


	5. Chapter 5

**The "Big Mutant On Campus" Series  
****By David D. Amaya**

_**Part Eight **__**"**__**A Knight on the Town**_"  
**_Chapter 5 _**

_**Disclaimer:**_ As per usual is at the beginning of the journey.

* * *

"Are you sure you aren't hurt, Bruce?" Commissioner Gordon asked again as he offered to refill the billionaire's cup of coffee.

"Really, Jim," Bruce shook his hand at his friend. "I just stumbled- I didn't know it was Krol I ran into! I'm just glad Kordel was there to disarm him. He could have injured one of the kids!"

"Speaking of the kids, I heard Tim was the first to put Krol in his place when he accosted Miss Guthrie."

"It's like I've been teaching him, Jim: you can either act superior, or just _be superior_. Start with respect, which means treating everyone that you meet with dignity, _until they deserve otherwise._"

* * *

"… At that time, the suspect grabbed a broken drinking glass and made a threatening offensive motion towards Mr. Wayne and the children," Kordel told Detective Montoya as they sat in Interrogation Room 2. "I arrived on scene at that moment and identified myself as a Federal Officer. He then assaulted me, causing a large wound on my right bicep. I utilized my tuxedo jacket to disarm the suspect. After handcuffing him, I read him his Miranda rights and removed him from the ballroom floor into a service hallway. The suspect attempted flight, but Mr. Delano halted his escape. Several Gotham City Police officers arrived and he was handed over for custody."

"And for the record, who patched you up, Agent Nichols?"

"A Dr. Leslie Thompkins," he responded. "Mr. Pennyworth contacted her and she tended to my wounds in my hotel suite. I requested that she turn over any medical notations and all foreign substances she extracted from my wounds to your forensics technicians for its evidential value."

"We were aware of that evidence from Dr. Thompkins as she exited your hotel room, we directed here to CSI in the ballroom to respect chain of custody. She's a good doc."

"I did not know doctors made house calls in this decade."

"She runs the Memorial Clinic, a free clinic for the destitute in the Crime Alley area."

"I do believe the good doctor's clinic shall be receiving a generous funding grant from the Clementine Nichols Charitable Trust in exchange for her assistance this evening."

"May I ask you why didn't wear your sidearm to the Award presentation?"

"This weekend I am on stand down, Detective Montoya," he explained. "But, off the record, I would have shot my own foot to escape that after-party."

* * *

"So why would someone with that kind of money like to get shot at, Bruce?"

"You get shot at all the time, Jim," he retorted, "and you don't make nearly as much as you should."

"I couldn't pull off rich. Heck, I wouldn't want to walk away from all of _this_," the Commissioner referred to his office with a sweep of his arm, "just to sit in the lap of luxury. But what I would _really_ like to know is if he really is who he _says_ he is."

"Do you believe that the man being questioned by Renée is an imposter?"

"No, I just want to know why he is really in my city. When the tech boys recovered his tux jacket, they said it's is a new bulletproof model that isn't off the rack; it has to be specially ordered from Switzerland. If he is the one-man army all those news reports said he is, he must be using the award dinner as a cover." The Commissioner punched a button on his office phone giving him an open line via the speaker phone. "I'm going to make a call to get to the bottom of this," He then dialed a number by heart.

"Who are you calling, Jim, the Secret Service office in Washington?"

"No, Bruce, someone _with answers._"

"_Howdy, this is the Lazy Q, the place for you."_

"This is Gotham City Police Commissioner Gordon, Maverick. Is your boss around?"

* * *

"_Jim Gordon!"_ the former Secret Service Agent's thick Texas accent flooded the small office. "_It's been a long time since we first crossed badges! What was it? Oh yeah, that thing with Obama! So how's Barbara, I take it Gotham State is educatin' her well?"_

"She's doing great, Charlie," the Commissioner beamed with pride. "Look, I have someone from the Sunglasses Set in the Box here, visiting, _for now_. He was involved in a scuffle and I was wondering if he is who he says he is."

"_You didn't arrest Kordel, did ya Jim?"_ he replied. "_He's supposed to have this weekend off. And now I'm goin' to assume that I'm glad I turned down his invite."_

"You know Special Agent Nichols, Charlie?"

"_Shoot! You don't know the HALF OF IT, JIM!"_

* * *

The kids decided on a drive-in that Tim liked, one that was popular with the car club set in Uptown Gotham called Skidz. He'd always wanted to cruse the scene in a more _customized_ vehicle than any of the drivers and club members that frequented this burger joint. Jason pulled to a stall and a carhop took their order, though Tim's choice of meal disturbed him.

"You're gonna eat a _salad_ at a _burger_ stand, Drake!?" He leaned towards the back seat and stared at Tim. _"You disgust me!"_

"I ordered the same thing, Jason!"

"Yea, but we already know you _like_ Bugs Bunny food, Hayseed!" Jubilee reminded her from the shotgun seat. "I just hope that Double Diablo Burger they sell here is close to spicy as one of Wolvie's Habanero Inferno Burgers! Only me, Gumbo and Kitty have eaten one and lived to tell the tale!"

"I'm headed for the John," Jay got out of the driver's side. "Just make sure you guys don't eat my onion rings."

"I'm getting out, too, Jubes," Paige replied as she hoped out from the back seat. "I'm going to get some air and call to let everyone know we're okay."

"Hey, don't tell 'em we're cruisin' in a drop top Pony, Hayseed! We're supposed to be busted!"

"Busted for what, Jubilee?"

"For not telling Secret Agent dude, _either_, Timmy."

"What I tell you Bobby, I knew they'd head here first!" Eddie Ears told the driver. "Besides, the Diablo Burgers are outta sight! Park here, Bobby. Mickey, get out and order us something to go, I'm gonna try to find out where they'll head next so we can set up a grab, then I'm gonna call the Boss."

* * *

"…_Sorry I can't tell you all the really juicy details on Lariat,"_ Charlie informed the Commissioner. _"All that is classified and I signed a confidentially agreement with the Secret Service. But it's safe to say he's one of the best agents that the Director has right now, and that's not a stretch, Jim."_

"He wasn't wearing his service piece when he tinned Krol. Why wasn't he carrying if he was wearing his badge, Charlie?"

"_I gotta take the blame or credit for that, Jim. Remember when the Service co-opted your Electronic Crimes Unit three years ago? It was one of my first encounters with him; he was undercover posing as himself for the Task Force attending some trust-funder's __quinceñera__. I took number twenty-four that weekend, thanks to those rich brats, the Coyote, Condor an' the Cod fish."_

"You mean Lawford, Lydecker and Hardwick?" Gordon corrected. "I remember that case, they tried to hack into WayneTech and steal $25 Million at Kristen Hardeen's débutante ball. Do you believe they are all still trying to appeal the verdict because Harvey Dent was the ADA who got the conviction?"

"_I got a summons a week ago, Jim. But at that Sour 16, he was packin' his Sig Sauer in a deep-cover fast-action rig when some drunken airhead drew his piece from behind him and blew his cover. Because of that, I suggested to him that he not wear his service weapon tonight, but I told him of this new fancy bulletproof tux that has to be special ordered from Zürich. Krol should be countin' his lucky stars that he wasn't packin'; Lariat's a better shot than most CAT teams."_

"So he's not here as part of some undercover operation, Charlie?"

"_He wouldn't drag three kids along otherwise."_

"That's all I wanted to hear, thanks again."

"_Anytime, Jim, You know, I gotta head for the kitchen, I don't trust that new cook with my family's chili recipe. Tell Harvey to cut down on the doughnuts and give Babs a hug for me."_

"Will do, Charlie! Have a good night." Gordon disconnected the call and sat down.

* * *

Several car clubs like to posture at Skidz, and Saturday night was for cruising Kane Blvd. Of the many four-wheeled sets, the largest, Gotham's Gundam Mecha Squadron, rolled with no less than 25 race-customized Honda Acura NSX sports cars.

Their leader, Brian _"Zabi"_ Harmon, had won one hundred straight street races, and fancied himself the crew's Race Track General, rolling in a tricked out Acura dubbed '_the Gwazine_,' painted with the red and black colors of the Principality of Zeon from the Japanese anime _'Mobile Suit Gundam.'_ Leading the Squadron to the drive-in, he was more than upset that there was a domestic convertible in _his_ parking stall!

"Man, this Diablo Burger isn't spicy at _all_. Maybe I shouldda gotten a salad like you an' Hayseed!"

"I couldda told you that, Jubes," Tim replied, munching on his chicken salad.

"Then next time don't keep vital intel like that to yourself, Timmy!" Jubilee scolded him. "You know you can be replaced by GPS! You wanna stick around, you gotta contribute to the cause!"

"Here's where you start to redeem yourself," Jay chewed on an onion ring before continuing. "Next on our list is a dash to a Kuik-E-Mart for a round of Brain Freezes and to fill this Pony up, _if_ we can find a Kuik-E-Mart." He turned to the young boy in the back seat. "You _can_ get us there without getting lost, _right?_"

Before Tim could answer, someone in a red and black race rocket bumped their convertible. Jason got out of the driver's side to check the damage while Jubilee jumped from her seat and shouted; "_**HEY!**_ WE'RE EATING HERE!"

The passenger side door opened and out stepped a young woman dressed in an Anime-styled military uniform. With stiff, British soldier-like movements she stood at attention, turned on her heel and stomped her right boot, then addressed the 24 other Acura's of their club;

"_Rise, Gundams, __**rise**__!"_ She barked like a drill sergeant. "Take your sorrow, _and turn it into victory!"_

Then, in practiced unison, all 24 other drivers exited their cars, snapped to attention in similar uniform jackets. The driver of _the Gwazine_ then nonchalantly exited his ride and slowly raised his left fist, as the rest of his club members followed suit and shouted in response the Gundam Mecha Squadron's battle cry: _**"Sieg Zeon!"**_

"Yo! _Leon!_" Jubilee called out. "Why don't you _sieg_ your hooptie the _heil_ outta our way! We got people to do _an' things to see!"_

The young lady turned towards the Mustang's three occupants. "How _dare_ you usurp General Lord Zabi's official docking platform!?"

"And how _dare_ you make me spill a pepper outta my burger!" Jubilee retorted. "What's with the Pigs in Space get-up? You guys late for a costume party?"

"I am Wing Commander Kishiria Harmon," she explained, "and you are despoiling the rightful place of honor of General Lord Zabi of the Zeon, glorious leader of the Gundam Mecha Squadron, undefeated at the helm of _the Gwazine_ four score throughout the asphalt battle grounds of Gotham in single, honorable conflict!"

"_**So?**_ I'm Jubilee Lee, and you are despoiling our evening! Now tell this broke-ass King Zarkon to get this robeast bucket the hell on outta here!"

The self-styled general stiffly marched up to the convertible and was face to face with Jason. "How _dare_ you allow this _child_ to address _**me**_ in such an insolent manor!?"

"How dare _you_ address _me_ without first eating a fist-full of _Tic-Tacs!" _Jason fanned across his face in disgust taking a step back. "Jubes! Where's my jar of Vicks!" He then addressed the leader of the Gundams. "You should take your ride to the nearest Walgreens and get some mouthwash, _please!_"

"Such low-bread insolence is a fallacy reserved for morons and fools. _Which are you?"_

"Look Sgt. Major Pain-in-the-Ass, we came here to eat, not to hide a body," Jason replied as he cracked his knuckles. _"But if you insist!"_

"Fisticuffs is so _mundane,_" Gen. Zabi replied. "But if that domestic nag you command can do more than attract flies, I _may_ allow you to face defeat on the asphalt at 440 paces! For I rule over all mecha and mortal alike who _dare_ seek _honorable_ duel!"

"_Duel!?" _Jay narrowed his eyes as he looked at the driver. "What the fuck you think this is, a scene from '_The Fast and the Furious'?"_

Tim reached out of the car from the back seat and grabbed his arm, pulling him down to whisper something in his ear, which made the Generation X student to perk up in interest.

"But, if _that's_ how you boys play in the _big __**bad**_ city of Gotham. I warn: you this Dark Pony _can_ gallop, and I got five hundred bills that say at a dead stop, your half-assed hatchback won't even finish _any_ ¼-mile stretch of blacktop in town!"

Tim grabbed his arm again and whispered some more. After Jay nodded at his request, Tim pulled out his phone and started to text someone.

"Drake here says you like Uptown so much, I'll even pick _your_ favorite track so you can lose _there_ for the first time! Finger 'n' O'Neil up to Kane, _**IF**_ you ain't scared to lose."

Oohs and ahs filled the air throughout the drive-in as Paige returned to the car to see a standoff between the new kid and a bunch of weirdoes in Star Wars uniforms and foreign hot rods.

"On behalf of Lord and General of the Gundam Mecha Squadron," Wg. Cdr. Harmon barked. "We _accept_ your challenge to duel!" This was met by the others with their battle cry; _**"SIEG ZEON!"**_

"What's going on?" Paige asked Tim who was furiously texting someone, but another teenager parked in the next stall answered for him: "Your man just challenged Gotham's fastest driver to a race!" He then turned to Jubilee. "You guys better watch out," he warned. "General Zabi's the best racer in Gotham, and anyone who runs from a challenge has his Gundams chase them down."

"'_Gotham's fastest driver'?"_ Jubilee retorted. "That's like sayin' Cookie Monster is the toughest Muppet on Sesame Street!"

* * *

Major Crimes Unit Detective Sergeant Harvey Bullock hated his current assignment.

Sure, there were _plenty_ of busts for him and the 30 officers on Task Force Dunlop, and he personally has almost three dozen collars to his credit in the past three weeks, but he's been itching to slap his cuffs on some real scumbags! Not these nitro nerds.

The Commish was taking a lot of heat because those punk street racers have been shutting down major streets in Uptown to drag these damn rice-rockets. So far no crashes have happened and no one was injured, (save, of course, the losers in a race for pink slips), but when that old rich battle-axe Mrs. Wentworth's ambulance got stuck in traffic because of those street racers closing down Dixon Lane, she caused a stink all the way up the ivory tower which was dropped on Gordon's lap, so he sent his top street cop to shut 'em down!

After three weeks of trying to think like these MyTube and YouSpace kiddies, he finally figured out (with the help of _**a little birdie, **_which _will_ remain nameless to _the rest of his unit!_), that most of the big-stakes races happen within the 15-blocks around Skidz, and someone sends a Twerp _insta-whatever-the-hell-it's-called_, to everyone who shows up; the location, who's racing, and the stakes. And to top it all off, every damn race is set-up and ran inside a 15-minute window, for a race that lasts only 10-seconds! So it was a stroke of luck that his secret informant sent him a text message telling him a high stakes race was going to happen at the intersection of Finger and O'Neil headed west to Kane Avenue, _before the rest of the hot rod groupies find out._ If this intel pans out to be gold (_and this little birdie's info has yielded plenty of busts so far!_), then they just might be able to put the brakes on all the street racers in Gotham for good!

He could respect their organizational skills, if it weren't for the fact that those lead-foot silver spooners who are too good to use all that cash to rent the old airstrip outside Blüdhaven to drag, unlike a _certain_ GCPD detective _and Commish_, who _**also**_ shall remain nameless to _the entire force,_ one of which had a mother who was a dentist and could get them all the laughing gas they could inject into the intake manifold of the other's lil' deuce coupe to take pinks from all the other suckers! But now that their wild and law-_bending_ ways behind them, Bullock intends to use all those street smarts and his gold shield to bust any dirtbag who breaks the law in Gotham!

"But I swear! If I hear _one_ more _snot-nosed punk_ say, _'You ain't no Batman!'_ I'm gonna break out the phonebook and the garden hose and do a little old fashion law _enforcement!_" he swore to the box of doughnuts he was depleting. "Then I'm gonna smash all those foreign blacktop chariots in the junk yard crusher myself!" He consummated this oath by making a powdered doughnut vanish as his department issued cell phone beeped.

"Finally! Time to rope some rice-rockets and turn 'em into scrap metal!"

* * *

** WgCdr Kishiria Harmon - Gundam Mecha Squadron  
ƟWgCdrHarmon_GMS **Gotham City

_**#GenLrdZabi **_of **#TheGMS** shall helm _**#theGwazine**_ to victory 101 over a newbie w/ a DK Pony. Finger&O'Neil ^WB^ _***#SIEG_ZEON !***_

* * *

Bullock licked his lips, and not just to clear all that powdered sugar. He's been itching to bust that trust-funder Brian Harmon! His intel source told him he's the leader of the biggest race gang in town who thinks he's raised some kind of racing army. If he could bust _the Gwazine_, who is- hands down the top dog on the racing scene, he's sure he can bring down the whole street drag culture in Gotham in one fell swoop!

When _his informant_ first sent him the text, he had the Task Force revert to **Operational Folder: **_**Black Flag**_, set up Plan: _**Charlie**_, and deployed in full force to the intersection of Bill Finger Street and Dennis O'Neil Lane to prep for their dragnet.

"All units on Task Force Dunlop, this is 5-David-1." He called out on the radio. "We got our post time verified, boys and girls! Finger an' O'Neil, just like I told you guys! They'll be toeing the line facin' Westbound on Finger. Remember, we take 'em down just like we trained. We got 'em this time, kids!"

* * *

"We can't nab 'em yet, Boss. They got mixed up in a street race…. No, I already know where they'll be headed next after they lose this race. I'm having Billy stay here while we set up an ambush. If they lose it'll be easier to nab 'em, Boss…. Back in my day when you lose a drag you lose your ride, so we'll just pick 'em up off the street then…. I overheard the blonde girl tell her boyfriend over the phone they're going to get a Brain Freeze after they leave Skidz. There's only one place you can get one at this hour in Gotham…."

* * *

Two sports cars lined up at the intersection of Finger and O'Neil. A dozen Gundams blocked off the side street at O'Neil and the finish line, Bob Kane Ave., which is exactly ¼-mile away. Since its repaving three weeks ago, it's also the smoothest, most level slice of asphalt in Gotham by far. The glorious leader of the Gundam Mecha Squadron had claimed 36 victories on this arena of combat on the fringe of Uptown Gotham, but he hadn't blessed this part of town with _the Gwazine's_ passion for conquest in over three months. The general's chivalry allowed his _unworthy_ challengers to pick the location of their choosing to make their last stand, feeble as they _always_ tended to be.

But this fool across from him was new to the mean streets of Gotham, so thanks to his own arrogance, he _will_ destroy this enemy on his most favorite of battlezones by far!

_The Gwazine's_ hood was raised and three lower-ranking Gundams were making last second engine adjustments. As he looked over to the middle of the intersection, he saw Wing Commander Kishiria Harmon, Executive Officer of the Gundams.

WgCdr Harmon was his 16-year-old cousin, formally from Star City, with a talent for motorcycle supremacy that he had taken under his wing, and together they took three racers with a passion for Japanese anime and wining street drags, and turned them into the Gundam Mecha Squadron, now the most respected _and feared_ street team on the Eastern Seaboard!

WgCdr Harmon, acting as his lieutenant, is giving Wayne's pet reclamation project the terms of his driver's own defeat.

"His Lordship, General Zabi has dispatched me to parley on behalf of the glorious leader of the Gundam Mecha Squadron," WgCdr Harmon relayed to Tim in the center of the intersection. "What are your terms of engagement, Earthling?"

"First," Tim consulted the list he scribbled on the back of a Skidz bag, "your racer does so with three of his best drivers in the car with him. We'll all ride the Mustang with Jason. Second, _**no spray**_. We're rolling in a stock package, so your cousin can fight like a man for a change. Third, and most importantly, after the race begins, if your racer exits his ride for _any_ reason, with the exception of an accident, _**before**_ crossing Kane Ave, _**he automatically loses!**_ If he's ahead by a light year or losing by a nose, it doesn't matter. _This point is __**non-negotiable**__."_

"On behalf of Gen. Zabi, we accept your terms. Our two stipulations are thus; _**First**_, we shall wait for a green signal to call. We shall start on the next red light. _**Second**_, your driver shall race with the top in the open position. His Lordship wishes his Squadron to witness your looks of defeat upon the moment of victory!"

"We were going to race with the top down anyway, so we agree," Tim replies, "But our intent is to see the looks on your wannabe Voltron Force when your man loses. Tell Brian _'Good luck,'_ cause he's gonna need it!" Tim extended his hand to seal the parley terms, but the Wing Commander simply clicked her heels together and snapped Tim a ridged salute then stiffly marched towards her cousin at the start line to relay the terms, who in turn ordered his pit crew to remove his bottle of nitrous oxide.

While all of this was going on, the Mustang at _the Gwazine's_ starboard side was loudly playing _"Fuel"_ by Metallica. The driver and that insolent girl with the urine-yellow trenchcoat were both reclining on the windshield singing along;

"_Turn on beyond the bone,_

_Swallow future, spit out hope,_

_Burn your face upon that chrome,_

"_Take the corner, going to crash,_

_Headlights, headlines,_

_Another junkie lives too fast,_

_Yeah, lives way too fast, fast, fast, who!_

"_Ooh, and I burn,_

_Fuel is pumping engines,_

_Burnin' hard, loose and clean,_

"_Ooh, and I burn,_

_Churning my direction,_

_Quench my thirst with gasoline,_

"_**So gimme fuel, gimme fire,**_

_**Gimme that which I desire!"**_

Jubilee broke into an air guitar riff as Jason mimed Lars Ulrich's drumming, all while awaiting Tim's pow-wow with that frigid Princess Leia look-alike. Paige leaned forward and turned down the radio in another attempt to talk Jason out of racing.

_**"What the heck, Hayseed?"**_ Jubilee pounds the windshield. "My mondo ax solo was next!"

"Jason," she implored the young man, "do you know how many people die every year in street races?"

"About fifty," he answered, still relaxing on the hood of the convertible. "Why do you ask, Guthrie? We ain't gonna crash."

"Well what if you _lose_? Do you _have_ $500!? _I _don't have $500! Our _dresses_ cost about that much!"

Jason removed his wallet and produced eleven dollar bills and splayed them on the windshield so Paige could see that seven of them bore Benjamin Franklin's portrait, then he returned them when Jubilee attempted to acquire one of them.

"Look, Guthrie," he explained to the girl from Kentucky, "I'm not afraid of him or his broke-ass wannabe Decepticons. Besides if it gets close, I'll just run his ass into a telephone pole!"

Paige looked aghast.

"Damn, Cornpone! Here's a perfect opportunity to toughen you up! Let's see if you can go through the rest of this ordeal without going into hysterics! Besides, the only reason we're even here is because Drake says he has a surprise for that reject from one of Parkman's anime movies!"

About fifty teenagers lined up along the start while another fifty were waiting at the finish of this modern chariot race, as Tim returned to the car.

"Okay, they fell for it," he reported as he returned to them. "When they remove the NOS bottle, we're to get ready at the next green light and move on the red. And they want you to run with the top down because, _'His Lordship wishes his Squadron to witness your looks of defeat upon the moment of victory!'_" He mimicked as he hopped into the back seat, prompting Jason to break out in laughter as he and Jubilee slid off the hood and returned to the front seats, where he suddenly became serious.

"Now for the moment of truth, Drake. Are you _sure_ about this? I _can_ run his ass into a pole if I have to."

Paige stifled a scream at that remark.

"What if _you_ roll the car, Jason!?"

"It's okay, really," Jubilee replied. "This is a rental, Hayseed, and that Mr. Nickelsworth _did_ say he got us the full ride insurance package."

"_You know what I mean, Jubes!__** Jason, stop this!"**_

Jason turned to face Paige with an angry scowl of his face, when Tim noticed _the Gwazine's_ hood close. "Jay, they're ready. Besides, like I told you, it's all taken care of," Tim replied confidently. "Just do what I said when we first got here and you've already won this race!"

"I guess its okay now," he said as he started prepping the Mustang for the race. "Drake, please tell both of these fine young ladies why no matter what he does, no matter how good he thinks he is, no matter how _fast_ his sled _might_ be, and how hard he tries, that he will lose the moment he hits the gas and shifts into first, _if you please?"_

Jubilee leaned towards the back seat and Paige leaned over as Tim explained, in as low a voice as he could while the top lowered, the reason he begged Jason, _someone he had only met two hours ago_, to a street race with a rental against a seasoned street machine with over $12,000 in modifications. Once the top locked in place, the light turned green, and the Wing Commander stepped between the two cars, acting as start judge.

"_RACERS, ATTENTION!_ _Forty-five seconds until launch! Ante up gentlemen!"_ she walked to both drivers and they each handed her five one-hundred-dollar bills.

Jubilee chose that moment to break out in a fit of hysterical laughter to rival the Joker himself!

"What's so funny, Earth Child?"

"A joke, your Highnessness! What's red an' black an' lightning all over?…_Give up?__** You'll find out!"**_

The light turned yellow as both cars started revving their engines, both peaked with raw unleashed power.

The light turned red….

* * *

_End of Part Five_

**_©David D. Amaya 2013_**


	6. Chapter 6

**The "Big Mutant On Campus" Series  
****By David D. Amaya**

_**Part Eight **__**"**__**A Knight on the Town**_"  
**_Chapter 6 _**

_**Disclaimer:**_ As per usual is at the beginning of the journey.

* * *

_The light turned yellow as both cars started revving their engines, both peaked with raw unleashed power. _

_The light turned red…._

The commanding officer of the Gundam Mecha Squadron stepped on the accelerator, ordering _the Gwazine_ to full speed as he shifted into first gear, laying twin strips of burned rubber over seven meters and was a blur before crossing the intersection.

The Ford Mustang GT convertible, at its starboard side, remained at the start line.

"_**IGNOMINIOUS COWARD!**_**"** WgCdr Harmon shouted at the start line, while all the rest of the Gundams shouted a cry of victory: _**"**__**SIEG ZEON**__**!"**_

Suddenly the subject of Tim's race strategy was unleashed with a bang and a brilliant flash of light.

* * *

Tim Drake, unbeknownst to the three older teens in the convertible, monitors all police special operations in his night job as Robin. The Boy Wonder not only knew of _Task Force Dunlop,_ but was the one who had been slipping his own researched reports to Harvey: in his mail slot at Police Headquarters, in doughnut boxes he devours when he thinks no one's looking, and set up the Twitter accounts that linked Detective Bullock and his Task Force to the Gundam Mecha Squadron and several other race crews. It was Harvey who Tim had texted earlier about the challenge, using a secured phone Batman gave him for emergencies.

Utilizing the Batcave's vastly superior technology, Robin found out the contents of _Operational Folder: __**Black Flag**_ a week ago, which he shared with the three Generation X students just before the start:

_Operational Folder: __**Black Flag**_ detailed the Task Force's use of newly developed Electronic System Disruptors, on loan from STAR Labs. The disruptors were fired from a specially designed dual-shot canon, mounted in a fake street lighting control box in the center median that was deployed by a laser tripwire just across the intersection. Upon impact with the speeding _Gwazine_, the ESD deployed a low yield, non-nuclear, electromagnetic energy burst throughout the outer shell of the vehicle.

The strongest part of the pulse lasted for only a fraction of a second, but every electronic device, and everything connected to electrical cables, was severely damaged. In less than a quarter of the time it took to blink, _the Gwazine's_ four Gundams saw every electronic controlled system, including their Android phones and iPads, get shorted out, stopping the race-customized, Honda Acura NSX 10 yards short of the finish line. Seven Gotham City Police Officers burst out of an empty storefront and surrounded the disabled vehicle with their weapons drawn at _the Gwazine_, though all four Gundams surrendered without incident.

"…As long as you don't pass the crosswalk we'll be fine. And besides," Tim told them before the race, "I can't stand that jerk, Harmon, anyway!"

* * *

Three of the Mustang's occupants began laughing. "As per our parley, Harmon," Tim called out to WgCdr Harmon as she looked, in a daze, upon her cousin Brian being pulled out of the destroyed _Gwazine_, "your racer exited his ride and didn't cross Kane. We won and_**YOU LOST**__**!"**_

She pointed at them in fury. _**"**__**GUNDAMS ATTACK**__**!"**_ she ordered as the wail of 20 squad cars announced the arrival of the GCPD, whose intent was to arrest everyone there for participating in an illegal street race.

"_You guys say hi to Ritchie Krol for us!"_ Jay shouted as he extended his left arm, hit the gas, snatched the $1000 from her hand, and drifted hard left, steering the Mustang onto the sidewalk to squeeze past the Gundam's blockade of the intersection, fleeing south. The first on the scene, an unmarked car, saw the convertible break free and was hot on its tail, following it via the sidewalk.

"5-David-1 to all units converging on Finger an' O'Neil: mop up that damn race crew!" Bullock barked into the radio. "I'm in pursuit of 510 suspects headed Southbound on O'Neil in a silver Ford Mustang convertible, four brat perps in the car! Sgt. Williams is incident commander on-scene 'til I catch this runaway pony!"

* * *

"Harvey Bullock's on our tail, Jay!" Tim reported as he saw the single red light. "He's a good cop, _but I'd rather not let him see me dressed like this!"_

"I guess we get to see this Pony gallop after all! _**Giddy-up!"**_ she shouted with glee as Jay shifted into third gear.

"You can't outrun the police, Jay!" Paige called out. "Don't you watch the news?"

"My mamma preferred World's Wildest Police Chases! Watch and learn, Corn Pone!" Jason floored it and stated to put some distance between him and the unmarked car. The Ford was half a block ahead and pulling away quickly.

"You _do_ know that police cars have radios?" Paige continued to persuade a non-violent surrender of the car. "They'll catch us in a flash!"

That last remarked gave Jay an evil idea. He eased off the gas pedal and the gap shortened.

"Whaddaya you doin', Jay!" Jubilee protested. "We're gonna get _busted_!"

"Not unless _you_ can help it!" He grabbed Jubilee's arm, pulled her closer and told her something Tim couldn't make out before he released her.

"Drake, Guthrie," Jason called out over his shoulder. "I'm gonna try something to shake this swine off our spine! Both of you duck down and cover your heads with your jackets!"

Tim bend at the waist towards the center of the seat. Paige did the same over him and was about to drape her coat over their heads when she realized:

"_Wait!? _Jubes you're not going to-"

"_YEAH, I IS__!"_ she cheered with a big grin. "_**One happy memory commin' up, Jay!**_"

The pair ducked with Paige's coat over their heads, then Jay pulled a wide U-turn at the intersection of the residential block they had entered, headed back the way they came. Jason attempting to beat the approaching police car to the side street at 12th and O'Neil. Bullock saw the car coming back his way and the gap narrowed quickly. The Pony made the intersection and pulled a left hand power slide just as Bullock's car approached the same intersection. As the Mustang's passenger side was in full view, Jubilee shot a bright burst of colored fireworks at the police detective.

"_**EAT PYRO, COPPER!**__**"**_ Bullock heard, then was temporarily blinded by a brilliant flash of light, causing him to go crashing into a large pile of garbage bags left at the curb.

As he waited for his vision to clear, he felt around the dashboard for the mic and reported in. "5-David-1 to Central, Officer involved TA at 12th and O'Neil, No injuries. Pursuit broken off." He keyed the mic off before throwing it violently on the dash. He pounded the steering wheel in frustration.

"_**I'm gonna bust those damn kids if it's the last thing I do!**_" He reached for his box of doughnuts, retrieved then devoured one, purely on instinct.

* * *

"Good shootin', Jubes!" Jay called out as he slowed down to make sure the cop was unhurt. "Hey, you two!" He tells the back seat. "We shook 'em!" Paige and Tim's heads popped up from the back to see Bullock's car under a large pile of trash bags.

"Oh my!" Paige gasped, bringing a hand to her mouth. "I hope the officer isn't hurt."

Tim could hear him yell something he could not make out, but seeing him eating a maple bar put him at ease. Sure, he despised Batman, _and_ Batgirl, _and _Nightwing, _**and**_him, but still - he is one of the last true honest cops left in Gotham City.

"I think ol' Harv's going to be okay, you guys," he relayed. "He's one of the toughest cops on the force."

"Well from here he looks like one of the _fattest _cops on the force!" Jay replied as he saw him get out of the unmarked car through the rear-view mirror cursing and kicking the tires, as the Mustang continued to drive West on 12th, but at a more legal speed.

"Well, this has been fun so far; we got to eat at an old school drive-in, got into a street drag- which we won thanks to Drake's brains over ten grand in upgrades, Guthrie was involved in the evening's _first_ police pursuit without going into hysterics, which had a happy ending thanks to Jubes! And we are still breathing the sweet, _SWEET_, air of freedom, thanks to the expert motoring skills of yours truly! So while our heroes gain exit through the streets of Gotham, let us celebrate this team victory! Brain Freezes and ice cream's on me boy and girls! Drake, my man! How do you get to that Qucki-Mart from here?"

"Actually, it's in the _other direction_, Jay."

Jason stomped on the breaks with both feet bring the car to a sudden halt as he and Jubilee looked at him crossly.

"Of course, we _can _go the long way around."

* * *

"So you say those teenagers were responsible for the RoboTech cars getting seized by the police?" the Riddler asks as he racks the pot from his winning hand. "I was planning a caper and was planning to utilize their automotive skills and size of number for their diversionary value. _Pity_. I see now I have to adjust my plans. But how did you finally capture them?"

"My forces tracked their movements throughout Gotham," the Penguin continues as Li'l Duce dealt another hand, "and had correctly anticipated their movements through the Uptown area. You of all people would agree: to think like a child you require muscle with the IQ of a child…."

* * *

"Told ya, Bobby, here they come. We'll nab 'em after they get out of that Qucki-Mart."

"Aw shit, Eddie! We got trouble!"

"What is it Mickey, the cops?"

"Worse! Look for yourself!"

As the goon pointed to the front doors of the convince store, the three thugs witnessed two men of their acquaintance enter the establishment. One was Mickey "Zippo" Raymond and Ellsworth "Flint" Cohen. Their reputation were known to all three men as the Pyrophiliacs, who got their nickname because they got their rocks off by setting fire to the places they would hold up, _and sometimes their victims first,_ with a small vial of lighter fluid.

"Should I go in there and smoke those schmucks, Eddie?"

"No, our marks just pulled in. Damn it all, it's too late! Of all the _rotten luck_! Those crumbums _better _not put a fucking _scratch _on our marks!"

* * *

The Mustang pulled into the Qucki-Mart's gas island as the three teenagers were still celebrating a team victory. Paige, though, was still coming to grips that Jason's reckless driving let them elude capture by the police because of Jubilee's use of her mutant gifts to affect their escape from a police dragnet Tim knew about.

"I told you, Paige," Tim repeated _for the third time._ "I know the Commissioner's daughter! She's in the know about these things. Besides, I know the Harmon's. They spoiled Brian rotten, so he got what he deserved!"

"And you _used _us to do your dirty work!?" Jubilee asked with a scowl.

"Well, _yeah_."

"Kewl!" she replied with a smile. "Monday morning you can walk the halls of your school with your head held high and say you were the Crew Chief of the downfall of the Punk-ticons, by preying on their arrogance."

"You know, Drake," Jason added as they got out of the car, "I'm gonna buy you one of those buttons with '#1' on it for you. If anyone asks what it means, _tell 'em this story! _And since Guthrie is still weirded out by the events of the past half hour, she's elected to feed this Pony." He slipped his bankcard into the gas pump's reader. "Fill 'er up, ma'am. So what do you want from inside?"

"A small bottle of Fiji Water and a pint of Ben & Jerry's Imagine Whirled Peace, please."

Jason scowled at her. "Water and ice cream? _You're sick, sister!_ Well come on troops!" he told the other three. "Brain Freezes await no man!"

When the three teens entered the convince store, Jubilee passed by some dude staring at the coffee machine while she headed for the Brain Freeze dispenser. A medium straight Coke was for Tim, a large mango and cherry mix was Jason's pick, and Jubilee had a special blend she'd dubbed _the Devastator:_ a mega-sized, starting with a layer of Coke, a layer of mango, a splash of Mt. Dew from the soda dispenser, all topped with blueberry.

Tim headed for the freezer section of the store to get their ice cream: Imagine Whirled Peace for Paige, Berried Treasure for Jubes, Turtle Soup for Jay, and a Pomegranate Sorbet for himself.

Jason, meanwhile, grabbed a small basket and went to the back to get a bottle of water for Guthrie, a Snickers bar for Jubes, a Clark bar for Drake, and two brownies for himself. He was the first to the counter, passing a man who was looking through the magazine rack.

"Yeah, _all_ this stuff's on me," he explained to the clerk behind the counter as he bent down to adjust his bootstraps. "I'll also take that 4000 Points Card for the X-Box. That _'I'm #1'_ pin for Drake, and I'll be taking the gun from that asshole behind me, _so relax_," he finished with a warm grin and a wink.

"_Excuse me?"_ the clerk replied, surprised at his statement.

"_I __said__,"_ he repeated in a very loud voice, _"I'm gonna take the __gun __from that __asshole __standing behind me!_ I'm from East LA, you don't think I wouldn't _know _that you're gettin' jacked!?" This remark was more for Zippo, who dropped the upside down magazine he was pretending to read and raised a large-barreled revolver.

"Both of you, _stay where you are_!" Flint barked, he also displayed a large handgun at the two other teens standing next to the soda dispenser with their items filling their arms. "We're making outta here with all your money and cell phones!"

"Correction," Jay replied, looking at the girl behind the counter and nonchalantly unwrapping a brownie and taking a bite, "they're gonna put their gats on the floor, then I'm gonna knock 'em both _**the fuck out.**_ Then _maybe_ we'll call the cops to dump the trash,_ after I have some fun first!"_

"Timmy," Jubilee whispered. "When I give the signal: _drop_."

"These guys are armed, Jubes!" he whispered back.

"_Then the odds are even,"_ she replied with a smirk.

"Check this motherfucker out, Flint!" Zippo called out, leveling the barrel of his gun at Jason's spine. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Jason slowly turned around to face the gunman as he took another bite of his brownie. "_I__** know**_ I'm the guy who's gonna break my boot so deep in your ass, you're gonna shit insole for months. _Aw, fuck it!_ Do you see that surveillance camera behind the counter, recording our _every_ movement?" He indicated with a nod of his head.

"Yeah?"

Jay threw the brownie he was eating at the camera, covering the lens. Its frosting stuck to the glass, effectively disabling it. In the same motion, he brandished his switchblade from the wristband of his Ice Dogs jacket, as he had the presence of mind to transfer it from his boot when he realized they walked into a hold up. "Now that we're alone, no one's gonna save your ass! Drop the gat, or _I'll make you famous!"_

"That's rich!" Flint remarked, watching from across the store. "You sure are dumb kid! You never heard of bringing a knife to a shootout?"

"You never heard of the 21-Foot Rule, _Shit-for-Brains__?_" he countered, his eyes fixed on Zippo twirling his switchblade in his right hand. "You don't look like you're a sharpshooter! Shit, you can't even hold that Ruger straight! So when I make my move on your boyfriend here with a gap of less than 21 feet, I'll disarm him of that Dirty Harry cannon, then I'm gonna beat the shit out of you, in an old fashioned pistol-whipping, _using your own gat!"_

"You think you're faster than a bullet, kid?"

"I'm smarter than a bullet, and damn sure smarter than you two!" he said still locking unblinking eyes with Zippo. "It's like what I did to Officer Fat-Ass a while back! Blink and I'll have you on the floor in a _bright flash of light!"_

"Hey, Zippo, this asshole thinks he's the Batman!"

"Shit, _I'm barely the hero in this whack ass story_, so don't test me. But if you _cabróns_ wanna role play, I'll be Swan from the Warriors, and he can be Luther, leader of the Rogues," Jason grins. "Come on! Clink a few empty bottles on your fingers and chant '_Warriors, come out to **play-yay!'"**_

"You think this is a game, motherfucker!?" Flint called out.

"This is a Mexican Standoff, _puto!_" he replied with wicked grin. "And since my momma's Mexican, that means **_I'm winning!_**"

"After I cap you, boy," Zippo cocked the hammer of his Magnum, "I'm gonna let your friends watch as you _burn _to death!"

Jason wiped the grin off his face. "**_Motherfucker!_** Just for that, I'm gonna introduce you to _the Tyrfing Sword's **curse!**"_

As the thug straightened his right arm, pointing the gun at the teenager's chest, Jay throws his switchblade at him, impaling him at the wrist of his gun hand, causing him to miss the teen and shoot out one of the front door's glass.

Zippo screamed as Flint wheeled around to fire at Jay. While Jubilee tripped Tim to the ground, she nailed the thug with a stream of her pyro, making the gun too hot to hold. Once he dropped it, _she _dropped _him _with several well-placed kicks: first to the breadbasket, then the head, and of course, _the family jewels,_ falling him to the tiled floor in a grunt.

Jay tackled the wounded gunman to the floor, knocking him out with several mutant-ability-enhanced punches to the head. Once unconsciousness mercifully took hold of the goon, Jason extracted _the Tyrfing Sword_ from his wrist, wiping his blood off with the thug's shirt. Then he proceeded to cut off large pieces of his hair with the blade. At that moment, Paige burst through the door looking upon the scene.

"Jubes, what happened!?"

"These jerkwads tried to hold the place up!" Jubilee answered. "We are _not _going the rest of the night without a Brain Freeze, Hayseed!" She looked down at the three drinks, which spilled on the floor when she dropped Flint. "Aw man! Hey," she called out to the stunned clerk. "I'm sorry about the mess."

She snapped out of her fear-induced paralysis. "Don't worry about that, miss. You guys can have anything you want, _on the house!"_

"Then that'll just make _us _the crooks," Jay replied. "These are the fourth and fifth assholes to try to fuck with my evening," he informed the young clerk, pointing at them with his blood and hair-encrusted switchblade as he got up off the floor, several clumps of hair surrounded the felled would-be gunman. Again wiping his would-be killer's blood, _and hair_ off _the Tyrfing Sword _with the gunman's shirt, he got up, walked to the counter, and tossed three of his freshly won bills on the counter.

"That's for the mess I'm _about_ to make."

He then went to the baked goods aisle, donned a pair of plastic food mitts, then returned to Zippo and unloaded the revolver that was once pointed at his chest. Six .44 Magnum cartridges fall to the floor.

"Jubes, one more round for the road. Drake, that ice cream should be hard enough to have survived, check before you get others."

Tim, who was still on the floor and hadn't seen exactly what happened, crawled on all fours to retrieve the ice cream that littered the floor.

Suddenly, Flint Cohen grabbed Tim's wrist and, spinning him around as he hopped to his feet, he held Tim in a headlock as he pulled out a small vile of lighter fluid and lit his Zippo lighter.

"I'm getting outta here in your ride and I'm takin' him with me. Anyone makes a move, I'm torching this brat!"

Jubilee tossed the remaining contents of one of the cups of Brain Freeze at the thug, dousing the lighter. The sudden movement allowed Tim to elbow him in the gut and then shoulder toss him to the ground, following up with an elbow strike to his nose that effectively knocked him out.

"_ALL RIGHT, TIMMY__!"_ Jubilee praised, clapping her hands. Paige quickly joined in.

Tim embarrassingly took a bow and retrieved all four ice cream cartons. "They're all still good," he apprised as he tossed them, one at a time to Jay at the counter.

"Great job, Drake! But I gave him my word I was gonna give him an old fashioned pistol whipping with his own gat," Jason informed him as he reached for Flint's semi-automatic and removed the clip from the gun. "And unfortunately for him, _my word is worth more than the ransom of kings!"_ He then slammed the butt of the cleared weapon down on his prone head several times as the four others in the store looked on awestruck.

"Just for that oversight, _Jubes!_" he called to her as she was refilling their drinks, "make his _a Mega-Sized!"_

As the clerk began ringing up their purchases, Paige asked the obvious:

"What do we do with these scumbags?"

"Call the cops?" the clerk offered up.

"I ain't done with 'em, _yet_," Jay replied with menace in his voice as he cracked his knuckles. "But since they ain't worthy of fulfilling_ the Tyrfing Sword's __**curse**_, what should we to do with them, _**next?**_"

"I know just what to do _**to**_ them!" Jubilee answered. "_Oh, Timmy,_" she added in a singsong voice, "be a dear and get me that large pack of rubber bands, that roll of duct tape, that spool of speaker wire, a handful of napkins and two of those pine tree air fresheners! Jay, come here an' help me move the bodies. It may not be a _curse_, but this will haunt them forever! You'll all get a kick outta this, _**for real!"**_

He exchanged a questioning glance with Paige, Tim and the clerk. "I _have _to see this," he replied tossing two more bills on the counter.

* * *

After securing the would-be hold up men, the clerk called the police and the teenagers made a casual retreat to their rental car, promising Cindy, the Qucki-Mart clerk, that they would stay where they could keep an eye on her until the cops arrived, _not wishing to interact with the local law enforcement community for a second time within the hour!_

They sat in the convertible parked at the gas island, though they didn't have to wait long as the first car to respond was on the scene after only a minute or so, though it was the single light of an unmarked car, one with several trash bags sticking to the front grill and bumper.

"Oh, oh!" Jubilee called out. "It's that cop we ditched! Everyone duck!"

As the four teens hid out of sight, Harvey Bullock pulled up to the Qucki-Mart, seeing the broken glass that used to be the front door; he entered with his Smith & Wesson 686 at low ready. When he entered, he saw the clerk whistling a tune while mopping up a large spill near the soda dispenser, when she saw it was Sgt. Bullock, she simply pointed to the center aisle for him to see two cleared handguns, several rounds of unused ammo, and the two would-be robbers who were fit to be tied, _literally!_

Ellsworth Cohen, who has been in and out of Arkham for years because he was a firebug, was laying spread eagle face-up on the ground. Mickey Raymond, a lifelong loser, was splayed on top of him, but upside-down. They were held, belly-to-chest by some tightly wrapped speaker wire. Raymond's right wrist was bleeding, but someone held a stack of napkins in place over the wound with some duct tape. Each of their extremities were held, arm-to-leg, with over 400 rubber bands; and their mouths were covered with duct tape, while their hair was mutilated and also covered with several strands of the silver tape. As each felon's face was lined up with the other's crotch, there was a tree-shaped air freshener dangling from their crotches.

"Well, well, _well__!_ Flint Cohen and Zippo Raymond! What is it they call you mooks? Oh yea, the _Psychophiliacs_! I'd cuff you, but I want the boys at the station to see this!" He removed his radio from his belt and called for a paddy wagon and a CSI tech to recover the spent round that busted the door.

"Okay, Cindy, I'm gonna need the security tape for tonight." He then reached into the baked goods display and removed a dozen doughnuts. "And a box of the usual for the road. Do you know who did this to these losers? 'Cause this sure ain't the Bat's handiwork."

With a wide grin, she pointed to the convertible parked outside at the gas pumps. Suddenly, four teenagers popped up, one of which he'd swear he had seen before. The girl in the passenger seat blew him a kiss when he realized…

"_**It's those damn racers!"**_ he cried as he dashed outside his service revolver pointed at the Mustang as it pulled out onto the street and retreated. **"**_**I'M GONNA BUST YOU PUNKS, EVEN IF IT TAKES ME ALL NIGHT TO FIND YOU**__**!"**_

"_**NOT IN THIS LIFETIME, FAT-ASS**__**!" **_the driver shouted as they fled Eastbound.

Reentering the store, Cindy couldn't help snickering at his dilemma. Those kids _did _mention that they had just ditched a cop, who sounded a lot like Harvey. He was swearing under his breath and when he saw the two hoods start to squirm he finally shouted; "If it wasn't for you two mooks, I'da _busted _those brats!" When one of then began to moan he kicked them.

"_Shut the hell up! _Both you losers are going Downtown first!"

* * *

"What the hell happened in there, Bobby? I swore it was Zippo and Flint goin' in that store."

"Musta been someone else, Eddie. That broken door musta been an accident."

"Screw it, boys! Our marks got outta there in one piece and we got our ambush ready, now we just gots to follow 'em until we can get clear. Let's go Mickey!"

* * *

"Did you guys see the _look _on his _face_!" Jubilee whispered excitedly to her cohorts hiding in the convertible. "He's gonna be retellin' this story to the boys in blue for _years_!"

"I told 'em I'd make 'em famous, Jubes!"

"This is more like _in_famous, Jay!"

"_Don't you watch sub-reality TV, Corn Pone?"_

"Cindy's pointing at us," Tim remarked at the clerk's gesture, _"__NOW__!"_

The four teenagers popped up, three of them waving at Harvey including Tim. As Jay started the car, Jubilee blew him a kiss.

"_**It's those damn racers!"**_ Bullock cried then came running out of the store with his revolver aimed at them as Jay floored it to the street **"**_**I'M GONNA BUST YOU PUNKS, EVEN IF IT TAKES ME ALL NIGHT TO FIND YOU**_**!"**

"_**NOT IN THIS LIFETIME, FAT-ASS**__**!"**_ Jay crowed over his shoulder as they fled Eastbound. "_**Again**_, our heroes faced perils too much for mere mortals to face alone and _as one,_ are once again breathing the sweet, _SWEET_, _**SWEET **_air of freedom, thanks to the expert motoring skills of yours truly! So while our heroes gain exit once more through the streets of Gotham, let us celebrate _this_ team victory with the hard earned, _and well deserved,_ reward for thwarting the forces of evil! _**Drake!**_ Do you know of _any_ place in this city where we can park where it's quite quiet enough to scarf down our justified desserts _without_ a hold up guy or some speed racers giving us shit?"

Tim thought hard. Gotham City was the toughest city on the East Coast, but of all the places that are quiet at this time of night, _by Gotham City standards,_ there were few he could take his new friends to. Since he assumed they didn't like to hang out on high ledges with gargoyles, there was only one that could fit a car.

"Well, there's a parking garage on 3rd and Ocean that has a great view of the waterfront," Tim replied. "I like to go there to see the stars sometimes, and to think."

Jason and Jubilee exchanged a knowing glance. "Sounds like a winner, to me!" Jubilee replied. "We can plot our next move by the time we're done eating our ice cream!"

* * *

A short time later, they found themselves on the empty roof deck of a five-story parking garage with a breathtaking nighttime view of Gotham City's shoreline, while they all ate ice cream and contemplated the last two hours.

"Okay, so tell me somthin'. Was that 21-Foot Rule-thing real or was that a bunch of bull, Jay?"

"You'd pay to find out, wouldn't you, Jubes?" he said with a wicked grin, slurping on his Brain Freeze. "But I gotta hand it to our main man, Drake! Yo, where'd you learn to take out an asshole like that?"

"Gotham's a tough city," Tim replied truthfully. "You learn to defend yourself or you'll get mugged, _a lot,_ and I _don't _like to get mugged."

"Does _anyone_?" Paige offered, sipping some water. "So what are we going to do next?"

"Let's see," Jubilee started to say with her mouth filled with berry-flavored sorbet. "We survived a dinner party with Secret Agent dude. Timmy saves Hayseed from Richie the Perv, and therefore the rest of us at the boring-as-hell after-party. We get the satisfaction of seein' our teach gettin' placed in the back of a squad car as we make a break for parts unknown. We smoked the Speed Racer while standing still. Ditched a cop in the most daring get-away since the Transporter. We jacked the hold-up twins - that reminds me! You gotta let me send that picture of me tyin' up those sleaseballs to Wolvie and Kitty, _**pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!?"**_

"For the last time, Jubes, _**NO**__**!**_" Jay replied. "Have you forgotten we're supposed to be busted!? If Lucky Charms sees we're having the time of our lives, he'll have us on the first bus back to school, and I don't mean a Greyhound, I'm talkin' _the Gray __Goose__!_ You can show Starsmore an' Espinosa on your phone, but not till we get back! Of course, _if _you don't mind me telling One-Time _and_ Cassidy _your reasons_ for going with me that morning."

"What _did_ you guys do to drag me into all this anyway, Jubes?"

Jubilee shot a look to Jay who sighed in frustration. "The _**where and how**_, Jubes," he said. "But _not __**the why!**_"

Jubilee smiled at him then turned back to face Paige. "You actually do know most of it, Paige, but it's still kind of a long story."

"We got all night, Jubes," Tim countered.

"Speaking of night," Paige mentioned, "it's getting kind of cold. Can you put the top up, Jay, please?"

"Sure thing, Guthrie," Jason started the car to switch on the roof, which slowly covered their heads, and obscured their view of the rest of the parking deck. With their loud music playing, they failed to notice a dark colored cargo van and a beat-up Ford Taurus slowly making their way onto the roof deck, nor the figure quickly sneaking up to their position.

Once the top of the Mustang latched into place, a canister was tossed inside the car. Before any of the teens knew what hit them, the two vehicles pulled up alongside of their car, now billowing sleeping gas. The van and the Taurus blocking the doors from being opened. When the yelling and banging stop, Eddie Ears and the two thugs he brought with him wore gas masks to remove their unconscious marks.

"Yea, Boss, it's me Eddie Ears. We got 'em, Boss.… Yeah, all four brats. Where do you want us to take 'em?… Sounds like a plan to me, Boss! We'll be right there!"

"Okay you mugs, time to get paid!"

* * *

Kordel finally returned to the Cathedral Square Grand Hotel after answering all Sgt. Montoya's questions. Arriving at 7:15 PM, he found a voice-message waiting for him from Charlie Block mentioning Gordon had checked up on him and to congratulate him on another unarmed bust.

Once safely in the penthouse suite, he went straight to the Master Bedroom. Kordel opened his favorite, specially crafted, steamer trunk and carefully looked through the several fine-tailored suits as he was contemplating his choice of evening-wear for his current situation.

He had commented to Sgt. Montoya that he and not eaten a decent meal, as the award dinner menu did not include the vegetarian course he had requested, so she recommended a restaurant "with a great vegan menu," and suggested their Stuffed Butternut Squash with the Chickpea and Couscous Delight and gave him a enthusiastic review of the pastry chef's Eccles Cake for dessert.

He was looking over something casual as the doorbell rang, upon answering the door it was again, Alfred Pennyworth.

"Good evening, Mr. Nichols. Or would you prefer _Agent_ Nichols?"

"_Kordel_ works perfectly, Mr. Pennyworth," he replied. "How may I help you?"

"While Mr. Wayne is predisposed with very important _business associates,_ shall we say, he requested I pay a quick visit to ensure everything is satisfactory, considering the evenings, _unpleasantness._"

"Other than the fact I am short three wayward students, _peachy keen._"

"I know Master Timothy well enough that he would inform us if any portion of the evening were, to utilize the vernacular of youth, _go sour._"

"I may have only known them for a few short weeks," Kordel countered, "but I've heard stories of at least several forays into mayhem, _from one of them specifically,_ that have me slightly worried."

"On the subject of the shank of the evening, Mayor Hamilton Hill stopped by police headquarters and invited Mr. Wayne to accompany himself, new Gotham City District Attorney Janet Van Dorne and one of her new assistants for the premiere performance of the last of Rameau's _tragedies en musique, __**Les Boréade**_, at the Vauxhall Opera Garden. But alas, he regrettably had to decline as he has been called to a delicate meeting with several _hostile_ business associates," Alfred explained truthfully as the Batman was, at this very moment breaking up a weapons smuggling operation at Tricorner Yards Seaport on the South edge of the city. "So I was called upon to invite you in his stead. The curtain for this evening's performance shall be at 8PM."

"While I thank you and Mr. Wayne for your thoughtfulness, my idea of a night at the opera is-"

The sound of the room's telephone ringing interrupted their conversation. Alfred, being closest to it picked it up out of habit.

"Mr. Nichols' suite. To whom am I addressing?"

"_Inform Mr. Nichols I have his children!"_

* * *

_End of Part Six_

**_©David D. Amaya 2013_**


	7. Chapter 7

**The "Big Mutant On Campus" Series**  
**By David D. Amaya**

_**Part Eight "**__**A Knight on the Town**_" **_  
Chapter 7_**

Disclaimer: As per usual is at the beginning of the journey.

* * *

"I beg your pardon?"

"_You heard me just fine, my good man,"_ the voice on the other end of the line continued. _"I have kidnapped Mr. Nichols' four young companions, and if he wishes to see any of them alive again, it shall cost him a princely sum!"_

"Mr. Pennyworth," Kordel asked, seeing the butler's face flush, "what is it?"

"Some scoundrel claims to have kidnapped the children!" he whispered, his hand over the receiver.

"_Keep him talking!"_ Kordel dashed for the master bedroom, ripped opened the heavily locked trunk and rummaged through the specially-crafted compartments, looking for a piece of equipment among the many items he kept in this trunk, should the worst were to happen to Kilowatt on his watch. He will _never_ admit he brought them with him, though, because he believed that he might just need them while in Gotham City.

Retrieving the item he was looking for, he carefully lifted the receiver off the telephone on the nightstand, placed it on the Stark Solutions phone tracking device, and activated it, and as he returned to the sitting room he grabbed the phone from Alfred.

"This is Kordel Nichols! Release your hostages _unharmed, __**immediately!**_**"**

"_Ah, my dear Mr. Nichols!"_ the voice commented._ "So glad to make your acquaintance, as well as that of your four young traveling companions: two strapping young men and two _very _lovely young ladies."_

"How do I even know you _have _the children? Allow me to speak with them, _**NOW**__**!"**_

"_I would, but they are still partaking the slumber which added to their capture. But I do have some of their affects. For instance, young Miss Guthrie happens to attend the Massachusetts Academy in Snow Valley and has a lone photograph of her older brother Samuel in the picture book in her purse. I am certain these are four teenagers for whom you would do __**anything**__ to secure their safe return!"_

"They are also a quartet for whom I will personally _tear this city apart__ to find!_" Kordel growled. "Harm just _one _hair on their heads you will wish that you turned _yourself_ in to the police once I find you!"

The voice on the other end of the phone laughed at the threat, unknowing how serious that threat truly was!_ "If they are fortunate enough to mean __**so much **__**personally**_ _to someone with __**so much personal fortune,**__ then I am quite certain that we will come to a __**mutually beneficial agreement."**_

"What _kind _of agreement, Mr. …?"

"_Those who travel in society's finer circles call me __**the Penguin**__, Mr. Nichols. I'm proposing an exchange. $4 Million for your young friends. A bargain, really, at $1 million each. Don't you agree?"_

Kordel consulted his watch. The tracking device needed at least 85 seconds before a positive lock. "It is now 7:30 PM. All banks in the city are closed and this city limits its automated teller machines to dispense only $200. Unless you be willing accept a check, we are at an impasse."

"_I have taken the liberty to have arranged for the funds to be exchanged electronically, my good friend!" _the Penguin remarked. _"All that shall be required is your presence and that of your financial account numbers. Meet me at the Southern entrance of Robertson Park Zoo in one hour. Come alone and __**do **__**not**_ _contact the police! Are my terms crystal clear enough for you, Mr. Nichols?"_

"_As a set of Swarovski Toasting Flutes,"_ he replied. "Robertson Park Zoo. One hour. Come alone. No _police._ I shall be there under _**those**_ terms."

"_Do insure that you arrive on time, Mr. Nichols. I would surely hate to have to allow those teenagers to slumber __**with the fishes."**_With that final threat, the line went dead.

Kordel dashed back to the master bedroom. The tracking device (which Remy had _appropriated_ when he was aiding the Secret Service agent in the safe return of the President's son), had a positive location lock on the caller. Despite the Penguin's attempt to divert the call's origin, the device displayed the location as the curator's office of the Robertson Park Zoo's Aviary situated in the Northwest edge of the zoo's property.

"Someone who calls himself _'the Penguin'_ has the students, Mr. Pennyworth." he informed Alfred as the butler entered the room, looking for Kordel. "They are being kept at the Robertson Park Zoo."

"_My word__!"_ he exclaimed as he reached for the discarded telephone. "I shall inform the police at once!"

Kordel blocked the receiver with his hand. "I am a man of my word, Mr. Pennyworth. I've agreed to come to the zoo, _alone_, without contacting _the police."_

"Surely you do not intend to actually meet with him with the intention of paying a ransom demand!?"

"He did offer an exchange of $4 million for their safe release, but I have been to too many Department of Justice workshops to know _I_ am the _**real target.**_" Kordel shed his tie and shirt. "If this Penguin person knows anything about me he would know that I have a Kidnapping Insurance Policy underwritten by Lloyds of London worth over 10 Million Euro."

"Then what are your intentions, Kordel? Do you mean to exchange your life for-" then he realization hit him. _"Wait._ You don't intend to rescue them _yourself?_"

"He said _'no police'_ but he did not say _'no federal law enforcement agent'_," Kordel opened the steamer trunk and rummaged past the several fine tailored suits, until he found his choice of evening wear for _this_ situation. "As I recall the conversation, he never requested that I should come unarmed, _nor_ did I give _any_ assurances to him that I would pay any demand of ransom _nor_ that I would negotiate the safe return of the children in exchange for my freedom. Though if circumstances require, I shall consider such as a _viable_ option." He kicked off his expensive dress shoes and began to changing into a black tactical coverall uniform, a pair of combat-style boots, and a Kevlar ballistic vest.

Once Kordel finished dressing, he looked to the Englishman like the spitting image of Bruce Wayne the first night he attempted to confront the criminal element of Gotham in single combat. He knows that the young man from Boston has received the finest training the government has to offer, but not nearly on par with the training that young Master Bruce had endured.

"What about Mr. Wayne, should you not contact him about Mr. Drake's abduction?"

"Of course, Kordel, but the business associates whom he is meeting, have in the past _frowned_ upon _any_ intrusions, so he is not able to receive any messages, including something so dire. Once he is receiving calls, I shall inform him straight away, but that will be at least an hour from now."

Alfred knew that after his time in service to the Batman, Kordel, as Bruce had come to realize _(whether or not either will admit it)_ will require assistance.

Wordlessly, Alfred exited the suite and headed for the elevator.

_Can't stop him if he decides to call the cops now,_ Kordel thought as he continued to prepare for another rescue mission. _If the Penguin lives up to his NCIC file, a one-man incursion will be more effective than a SWAT assault._

* * *

After ten minutes, Kordel exited the elevator wearing a heavy black trench coat, pulling behind him a large two-wheeled Halliburton ballistic attaché case, with what appeared to anyone in the hotel lobby as a large laptop computer case strapped to the handle. He looked to the world to be just another wealthy business executive in the cutthroat world of corporate warfare. Once he exited the hotel, Kordel whistled for a taxicab, but a black Rolls Royce limousine pulled up before him. Alfred opened the curbside driver's door and stepped out.

"If I cannot talk you out of the next hour's events, Agent Nichols, but at least allow me to ensure your swift arrival at your intended destination."

"What about Mr. Wayne?"

"The moment he is free of his present obligations, I shall contact him about the current state of events," he said as he opened the rear passenger door. "What I inform him of the abduction is apparently up to you."

Kordel thought about it for a moment, the last time someone offered this level of assistance to him, another life was at stake, he took him up on his offer by entering the limousine.

"Thank you, Mr. Pennyworth."

"Alfred, to my friends, Kordel," he corrected as he shut the door and sat behind the wheel of the right-hand driver's side. He then pulled into traffic and headed westbound, towards the zoo. "Do you have a stratagem of attack on the Penguin's forces?"

"The call originated from the aviary which is located at the Northwest area of the zoo." Kordel opened his attaché case and began to assemble his FN P90 submachine gun. "The Penguin wants me to meet him at the main entrance on the South side at Baker Street but I will insert via the receiving dock on the western side near Grant Blvd. I am sure the Penguin has hired professional goons to warn of any intrusions, so I will have to gage the size and strength of the surveillance and defensive forces. There are several wooded areas between that point and the aviary that will provide excellent cover to insert and allow me to move unabated in order to gain enough force intelligence before I attempt a hostage breech on the aviary."

"But what of the children? Surely they will be guarded by armed ruffians!"

"I do not know Mr. Drake, but the three students I brought with me can take care of themselves, but I am hoping they do not attempt anything imprudent."

"_Like attempting a solo rescue mission, perchance?"_

The ironic statement was not lost on the Secret Service agent. "Alfred, you _do_ realize I am carrying _loaded firearms?_" he replied as he continued to assemble his weapon.

"Forgive my dry, British humor, Kordel, but that makes you so certain they would attempt anything, _misguided?_"

"The issue that worries me the most is that two of them have deep-rooted issues with authority figures. If the opportunity arises, there is a small, _but genuine chance_ that they will not attempt an escape more than they will attempt to _retaliate_ for being captured so easily."

"What makes you believe their capture was easy?"

"The Penguin alluded to the fact that his hostages were captured in an unconscious state and that they remain so. That may actually work to my advantage."

"How so, Kordel?"

"I know my students would have fought back in a way that would have been mentioned. If they attempt a brazen escape, someone could be hurt."

"I certainly pray the Penguin's goons will not harm the children."

_"You should be praying the children do not **permanently maim** their kidnapers!"_ Kordel said as he continued to piece his weapon together.

* * *

Paige woke up. Or at least, she _thinks _she had really woken up. She opened her eyes, though, she knew that much. As for waking up, it was hard to tell. Her senses were definitely working, but other than that, she still felt like she was in a dream. She didn't remember falling asleep in this room, this big, dark, dusty room. _It seems like the Biosphere_, she thought.

The windows were high and didn't provide much light, and there were pipes near the ceiling and she thought she heard birds, really _noisy _birds; that were starting to give her a headache.

No, it wasn't the sound of birds that was giving her the headache, she already _had_ the headache. The birds chirping were just making it worse. And it wasn't really that noisy, but her headache amplified the noise. _Where was she?_

She searched her jacket pockets for her cell phone, but all the pockets were emptied. Even her pants pockets, although she usually only carried change and a compact mirror in them. Her purse was missing. Her wallet was in it, along with the small picture book Jono gave her for her birthday, even though the only picture she had in it so far was one that Sam had sent her. Instinctively, she checked her wrist for the time, but there was no watch. Whoever had put her in this place had taken that, too. She attempted to stand but she realized there was a metal shackle placed on her ankle, which looked like a large handcuff chained to a large eyebolt in the ground.

Suddenly she remembered she wasn't alone the last time she was conscious. Looking around she saw Jubilee, Tim, and Jason all scattered along the dirt floor all with similar shackles, all chained to the same eyebolt. She crawled over to Jason and shook him by the shoulders attempting to wake him. He started to stir, muttering something.

Damn it, Yoink!" he muttered. "It's just an earthquake and it ain't even a 5.0. Go back to sleep!"

"Jason!" she called out and slapped him across the face.

"I said I was sorry, Alea," he muttered again. "Your dad forgave me, why can't you?"

She slapped his face a few more times until his left hand clamped around her throat, his right hand balled up and ready to strike, until he realized who was slapping him awake.

"Get the fuck outta my room, Guthrie!" he tossed her backward. "It's still dark out!"

"Does this _look _like your room, Jason?"

He bolted up taking in his surroundings, then leaped to his feet, finally noticing the shackle on his boot. Paige then began to wake Jubilee as Jason shook Tim until they both were conscious again. Paige and Jubilee have been kidnapped before, but they didn't know, and hoped, that Jason nor Tim had to have suffered such an ordeal, but both have had similar situations before and that contributed to the lack of panic by the four of them. This time it was Jubilee who asked the obvious;

"_Where the hell __are __we?" _

"In my arena, dear child," said a voice from the shadows. "You are prisoners in my _**Aviary of Doom!**_"

_I know that voice_, Tim thought, shaking out the cobwebs.

"'_Avery of Doom'_?" Jubilee called out to their mysterious abductor. "Talk about crappy dialogue! _Who the hell are __you__!?"_

"My, my!" the voice calls out. "Such an unmannered child."

"Forgive her," Jason called out into the darkness. "She was raised by a wolverine in _lamb's_ clothing. But the question remains: _Who the __FUCK __are you!?"_

"Those who travel in society's finer circles call me, _**the Penguin**_, dear children!" After the snap of a flippered finger, a spotlight switched on. A short, grotesque-looking, round man wearing a tuxedo, complete with top hat, monocle, and carrying an umbrella, stood along with several men, all about six feet tall, all wearing black sweatshirts, black jeans, steel-toed boots, and black, knit beanies.

"And if either of you intend to ever breath free air, your benefactor, Mr. Kordel Nichols, has 35 minutes to arrive to procure your freedom."

Tim Drake was rightly concerned. He and Batman had to deal with him three weeks ago in an art heist at the Gotham Museum. Bruce still had the scars from one of his spinning bladed umbrellas during his escape, though _these _goons are new. Paige had heard of the Penguin, anyone who escaped from Blackgate Prison as many times as he had should be considered dangerous.

Jubilee and Jason looked at each other and she rolled her eyes. Here they were, kidnapped, bound, and at the mercy one of Gotham City's criminal psychos, and the _one _nagging thought they both shared was: _to be sarcastic_! This happened to her a lot in her life, since _before _she starting running with the X-Men. She knows it would be better to be quiet in these situations, but instead of that, her mutant power of _smart-ass_ kicked in. But it was Jason, though, who said the thing that Jubilee was also thinking:

"Well those who hail from _mi barrio_ think you're a fat-assed Reverend Lovelace," he snapped back.

"Ain't this a bitch!" Jubilee exclaimed. "We're characters in one of Hayseed's cheesy romance books! And if that ain't all, we're all jacked by the cast of Chilly Willy and Friends! Now how am I supposed to face my friends again, Jay?" She then buried her head into Jason's shoulder, feigning crying, but in reality, she was waiting for her _snickering _to subside.

"At least we couldda been snatched by the _Catwoman_," Jay remarked as he patted her back brotherly. "She kicks ass _**and**_ looks smoking hot! _This guy_ looks like the dude on the _Monopoly _board, but don't he use a pimp cane?"

"What are you two doing!" Tim grunted from his position on the ground. "These guys look tough!"

"Getting them to come to us!" Jubilee whispered in reply as she lifted her head off Jason's shoulder, the tears streaming down her face made her look like she was crying. _"Bust this acting, guys!"_

She tore herself away from Jay and looked at their kidnapper. The Penguin though, bought her look as a poorly educated way of coping with her dangerous situation.

"You may end the valiant _façade_, dear children," the Penguin continued. "If you all cooperate, you all may survive this encounter long enough to sell your stories to the tabloid media."

"Where did you download the playbook you're using? _ShittyEvilSchemes. com? __Damn__!_" Jason added. "And what the fuck is _this!?_ Cookie-cutter cronies! _And _in the official dress code of the cost-effective henchette!? The only reason eight people should dress exactly the same is if you're all _octuplets_. Talk about _cliché_! Let me guess, ladies," the young mutant addressed the hired muscle. "None of you could find work with an outfit that pays in advance, because none of you can speak Spanish or Russian, am I right, girls?"

Two of the men took a menacing step forward, but were stopped by the Penguin's raised umbrella. "Now, now, gentlemen, we cannot allow the merchandise to become bruised, _yet__!"_ He looked down at the four teenagers Eddie Ears provided; they were as poorly mannered as the local police! "You may drop the rebellious act, young one, for my associates here are more than equipped to handle any act of revolt. But, if you wish to see what becomes of rebellion, _well_, I do not have _total_ control of my associates."

"I hate to disappoint you, _cabrón_," Jay retorted. "But my middle name _means _'rebellion'! Look, _Skipper_, I know you're used to scaring six-year-olds working the birthday party scene, so I'll cut you some slack, but do you _really _think this broke-ass act of superiority is going to scare _us__? __**Bitch please!**_ I've seen better acting on YouTube!"

"I would love to continue this witty repartee," the Penguin placed his top hat upon his balding head. "But, I shall leave you all in the care of my esteemed associates. I have a ransom to collect. _Don't let them get away, Moose!"_ he addressed one of his men.

"Hey! Mr. Monopoly! Use the first fifty bucks to get better quality _minions_!" Jubilee called out as the Penguin's henchmen approached their position. _"When_ we bust free, we ain't gonna run! At least, _not __right away!"_

The eight hired goons all stepped off the platform to surround the four teenagers.

"I _know_ we can take six of 'em," Jubilee whispered to the others. "But eight might be a stretch. _Jay, I'm looking in __**your **__direction!"_

"Why do _I_ get the shit assignment our first time out!" he whispered back.

"Didn't you say it's _your _job to jump in to protect others against those who think picking on the defenseless makes them tough?"

Though he hated to be _appointed_ the javelin catcher, especially by the chickadee with the yellow coat, Jason Delano also knew that these bastards can't hurt him. But, just because he may be _willing_ to gamble with his life to protect others, it didn't mean he _always_ had to _enjoy it_.

"_Just keep __**pissing**__ me off, Jubes!"_ he grunted. "If Nuff were here the both of us couldda take all of 'em out _**easy!"**_

_"Ecretsay utantmay upersay owerspay!"_

"Thanks, Corn Pone!" Jay glared at her. _"How could I __forget__!?"_ The goons then started to approach the four teens.

Tim was racking his headache-bombarded brain to remember something about the one of the Penguin's newest flock of goons they were left with.

Though these men were new to the Jailbird's employ, he was certain that he'd crossed paths with one of them in his night job as Robin. Something about the one that had been staring at Jubes was familiar, but the knockout gas was still making his head swim.

Now he was looking at the young mutant like a jungle animal looks upon prey. If he even touches her, Tim knew he _has_ to act. He knew he could take two, maybe three, _if_ he had his utility belt, _and_ he was in his usual evening-wear. But secret identity or not, if Bruce Wayne taught him anything, it's the idea of _**justice**_. Sometimes, you must risk _your_ life _**to save their lives**_.

Even though Jay does not think the three being held hostage with him, _for the time being_, _is _his friends, he knows that as the oldest, _the toughest_, and as the _self-appointed_ leader of this Doo-Dah parade, he's got Jubilee, Paige, and Tim to defend _friends or not_, as they were now _his responsibility_. Secret mutant powers or not, if his momma taught him anything, it was her _**ideal**_ of leadership. "A true leaders knows it's your responsibility to _protect lives_ even at risk _**of your own.**_"

The goon Tim's trying hard to remember moved closer to Jubilee and looked her up and down. "Maybe we should separate 'em," he suggested, reaching for her hair. "And check if they have any concealed weapons, Moose."

Jay, who was standing next to her, slapped his hand away and shoved him back. "Hands off, _cabrón__!_ Touch her again and I'll make you famous!"

"Back off, Rickshaw," Moose, the biggest of the henchmen, called out, moving him aside. He and another large thug stepped in front of Jason and Jubilee and in a booming voice addressed them. "You're lucky that my mother taught me to never hit a girl. But _**you**_," he said as he turned to Jason. "I'll rearrange your face, you little smart ass, _if _you were my size!"

_Rickshaw? That's it!_ Now Tim remembered where he knew him from! His name was Thomas 'Rickshaw' Voss. Batgirl had told him about this creep. This guy was part-time muscle and full-time scumbag.

Voss was an online predator. He posted online ads for "young glamour models," e-Mailing fake applications to the respondents and reeling them in until they'd come over for an "individual photo shoot." The ones who would do anything to get their big break escaped with a life lesson at the cost of their dignity, _and their virginity_. The few that had been reluctant to shoot totally nude were fortunate to come out of the experience in one piece. The ones who put up a fight were lucky to escape with their _lives_.

Voss was busted a few weeks ago by the Electronic Crimes Unit after trying to lure his newest model, _'Debbie'_, or as Robin knew her, _Barbra Gordon_.

Batgirl, who was working in her civilian guise with the ECU, took Voss' _'bait'_, convinced into coming all the way from Jump City to Gotham for a _"Boudoir shoot."_ Voss had literally walked right into ECU's sting operation with a digital camera, a box of condoms, and a roll of duct tape for his "star." Voss entered the motel room he rented for their "session," but it was Harvey Bullock who was in the starring role, waiting for him with a pair of handcuffs and a trip downtown for his mug-shot close up!

But the thing that worried Tim now, as the scumbag stared at Jubes from behind Moose, was that Babs told him the reason they call him "Rickshaw" is that he had a thing for "riding" bound underage Asian girls dressed in Japanese school uniforms.

"My momma _also _taught me to never hit a girl in _fear_, _**dumbshit**__**!**_" Jay remarked as he connected with his left boot to Moose's groin. _"But __always __make an exception for __**A **__**BITCH**__**!**__"_ The thug had both his hands clasped to his groin, as he fell to his knees at the feet of the mutant brawler, who grabbed him by the collar of his sweatshirt, and connected with a headbutt dropping the henchmen to the ground.

One of the other thugs struck him in the gut with a powerful knee shot forcing him to double over then yet another one hit him in the back of him head with a sap, knocking him off his feet.

"Leave him alone, you creeps!" Paige screamed as she ran up to the two thugs that assaulted Jason, but one slapped her to the ground.

"_Stay down, Girlie!_ We'll bring your boyfriend back in one piece, _more or less!_" he chuckled as he removed the young mutant's anklecuff then hauled Jason to his feet as he and the thug he fell dragged the young man away, who winked at his fellow captives. "You guys watch the rest of these brats, me an' Moose is gonna make an _example _outta this one!"

"Gotcha, Ollie."

Jay was dragged into one of the offices by two of the biggest of the henchmen, so there were only six of them left in the clearing with the teens. Tim helped Paige up from the ground, concerned for her, as the rest of the thugs chuckled, but Voss now began to lick his lips. "Are you okay, Paige?"

"Hell _no_, she ain't _okay_, Timmy!" Jubilee was kneeling at their side in an instant then let her voice drop to a whisper. _"Jay's girlfriend's an island chick and __her __boy toy is Jono! Nice way to take a backhand to the __face__, Hayseed! Aren't you __glad __you took one for the team?"_

"No, Jubes, _I'm __not__!_" Paige whispered back. "I'm okay, Tim, _really_. Jay can handle those two. Now when he gets back in here, we gotta be ready to escape."

"Whaddaya mean, _'ready to escape'?_" Tim replied. "Two of these guys are armed!"

"That's what you said at the Kuik-E-Mart, and Cindy's still working the register!" Jubes reminded him, then gave Rickshaw a quick wink.

"What the heck are you doing, Jubes?" Tim whispered coarsely. _"That guy's a __pedophile__!" _

"I _know _creepy when I _see _it," Jubilee explained. "Look, Timmy, Jay was right, Secret Agent dude wouldn't come to Gotham unless he was strapped, so we just gotta let Jay bide his time with Phineas and Ferb so Paige will rack that super-brain of hers to work on getting us out of these chains in a hurry, and I'll work my secret mojo on tall, dark, 'n' _creepy _to distract him." She then snuck a quick glance to Voss.

"_Don't forget to remind me to take a __**long **__shower after this, Hayseed! _Soon Secret Agent Dude will arrive, _with mutual friends!_" she says with a grin. "After Jay gives the signal, hilarity is sure to ensue, so we gotta be ready to cut these guys down to your size and bounce!"

"What's the signal, Jubes?"

"_All hell breaking loose, of course!"_

* * *

"We have arrived at the Zoo's warehouse area, Kordel."

"Thank you, Alfred," he said as he raised the weapon, checking to ensure that the P90 was in working order by pulling the cocking handle. When the bolt retracted with a satisfying click, the Secret Service agent attached a military-grade sound suppressor onto the barrel of the weapon, thereby completing its assembly. "It is now 7:51 PM, which leaves less than thirty minutes until the meeting time. Drive to the police substation on Addams St. and Columbia Ave. If I do not contact you in forty-five minutes, inform the watch commander, that a _207_ is in progress at this location, and an off-duty Federal Officer is _10-30_ requesting a _Code 11_ response."

Alfred raised his left arm across the back of the driver's seat and twisted around to look at the young man, now donning a ballistic helmet. His years of service to the House of Wayne gave him enough experience to understand that Kordel means to wait to inform the police that _a kidnapping_ is underway, that he is _involved undercover_ and request Gotham City's _Quick Response Team_ to assist _in a hostage breach_. "Are you sure it is wise to confront someone as dangerous as the Penguin _and __his minions, __**by yourself!?**__"_

"No, it is not, Alfred, _but I am,_" Kordel reached to the holster strapped to his left thigh and retrieved a tactical-modified sidearm, and handed it towards the driver, grip side first. "Unless _you _wish to perform force-oriented reconnaissance of the area ahead of my planned breach of the aviary proper?"

"I would rather _not,_" he retorted. "I have been known to abet folly, _if I must_, but I refuse to personally _initiate_ it."

"You do not know _what_ you're missing, Alfred," Kordel returned the handgun to its holster before exiting the vehicle. Shedding the heavy trenchcoat, discarding it along the bushes, Kordel retrieved, then unzipped the laptop case to reveal that it contains the bulk of his equipment, which he adorned to his coverall uniform: two ASP batons; a ballistic nylon case filled with several plastic restraint strips; a room-entry mirror, which he slipped in a loop along his spine that fit under his helmet; several DT-25 canisters that he placed in the leg holster strapped to his coveralls; and two tactical knifes sheathed on his tactical belt.

Reaching into the attaché case, he removed a SHIELD-issue field equipment backpack, which included pre-packaged room-entry gear and a first aid kit, which he put over his shoulders. Then a large black military-issue Taser that he placed in a holster strapped to his chest, and several of the sub-machine weapon's unique semi-transparent polymer ammunition magazines and numerous replacement Taser cartridges were inserted into several pouches in his tactical vest and belt.

"This is where I take my leave, Alfred. If we do not have the opportunity to see each other again, I apologize once more for the treatment you endured at the hands of my Aunt Rose." The man from Boston extended his right hand at the Englishman.

Alfred remembered the incident in question, which happened over twenty years ago. But as he remembered that day, the five-year-old child who would grow up to rescue the President's son apologized for her abuse then as well.

"We shall discuss this further Kordel, _after_ the children are safely returned, young man." Alfred shakes his hand, and then starts the limousine. "Good hunting, Kordel," he says as he begins to pull away, heading North to the Addams St. Police substation leaving the Secret Service agent to begin his reconnaissance of the zoo's defensive force.

Once safely away from the zoo, Alfred sends the same text message to Barbra, Dick, and Bruce's cell phones.

* * *

_End of chapter seven_

**_©David D. Amaya 2013_**


	8. Chapter 8

**The "Big Mutant On Campus" Series  
** **By David D. Amaya**

_**Part Eight "**__**A Knight on the Town**_"  
**_ Chapter 8_**

Disclaimer: As per usual is at the beginning of the journey.

* * *

François Riché had come a long way from small-time crack mule to mid-level arms dealer. Even his crew looked up to him like he was "The Black Frank White," the kind of hustler who could make magical things happen, like a sorcerer. Hence his nickname on the street: "_Sòsye an Blan._" _**The White Wizard.**_

_Frankie Rich_, as only his personal inner circle calls him, was playing it cool, knowing that he and his boys were ready with their guns in case anything went wrong, not that anything _would _happen. His crew infiltrated the docks several days ago as longshoremen and had checked everywhere for anything out of the ordinary. At this time of night, there wouldn't be any cops, especially in this part of Gotham, but part of the magic wielded by _Sòsye an Blan_ was his ability to make _numerous_ disappearing acts when the law decides to show.

Besides, no one in their right minds would be _crazy _enough to fuck with twenty of his guys packing _this _much heat.

"Hell yeah!" he told his hand-picked boys in his thick Haitian-Creole accent as he and his best hitters rode through the Yards in two black Hummers. "It's going to be a good night!"

They drove to the South end of the Tricorner Yards. Once they reached Pier 44, the gang met up with Mario Falcone, the dim-witted son of Carmine _"The Roman"_ Falcone and some of his men.

"Alright boys!" Riché said to his crew. "Time for the magic to happen!"

Mario was more like a cartoon character than a mobster, trying to emulate his powerful father. But his rap sheet ranged from petty larceny to grand theft auto, from rape, to mutilation and murder. This wannabe gangster got out of his father's limo with a smug expression that held an air of conquest, like a multi-million-dollar gun deal was just a walk in the park.

"Frankie Rich!" the Mafioso called out. "Let's get this shit over with, okay? I've got an appointment with a _prostituta_ in an hour." He called this out as if he was waiting for a slice of pizza, annoying François to no end.

With a snap of his fingers, two of his best gunmen laid a large metal case decorated with the eagle logo of SHIELD on the ground and opened it, exposing the advance weaponry sitting inside. A wave of Falcone's wrist, and one of Mario's henchmen brought forward a large case filled with three million in cold hard cash. _That _was just the down payment for the _big hardware_. So far, so good. Everyone was nice and happy.

"Now, _that's _more like it!" one of Falcone's men uttered trailing a finger along the device, which was slapped away by one of Riché's men.

"No feeling up the merchandise until we have a deal, Greaseball!" One of them said in a Dominican-tinged voice.

"Hey, _Hey, __**Hey!**_" Mario called out. "No one does anything stupid till I have a chat with Frankie in private. I'm warning you mugs, _don't __fuck this up!_"

The low-level Falcone soldier muttered an apology to his "Boss" and backed away. "Frankie, why don't you and me chat in the back of my limo? I got some gnocchi from _Le Calandre_ that is _so _good it makes me mad at my own grandma!"

Despite his disdain for the younger Falcone, François learned at a young age that business is business- and besides, he _knows he's magic!_

* * *

A dark figure crept along the shadows, leaping silently from one building to another. His movements were slow and cautious until he saw several of Falcone's and The White Wizard's goons armed with military-grade rifles. The time for sneaking around was now over. As he stepped into the light, one of the goons looked towards the dark figure, his face suddenly a mask of fear and surprise, a cigarette dangling from his gaping mouth. The hired gun wanted to yell out a warning to kill the figure in the shadows, but it was too late. The figure let loose with a series of martial arts strikes on his person; making a sound like a pillow being fluffed.

Each thug went down quietly, the dark figure fast and efficient. The last thug, though, did not go down as quietly as he hoped, because he involuntarily fired his AK-47 into the air when he fell to his death from the large stack of shipping containers after tripping over a rat. With the silence broken, the figure quickly made his way to the meeting site, hoping that element of surprise was not completely lost.

"Paulie, go see what the fuck is going on out there!" Mario called out from the back of the limo. The thug pulled out a nickel-plated Berretta and headed towards the noise

Paulie looked back at his boss looking white as a sheet.

"Boss," he yelped, "Some mutt took out Mickey! Pushed him right off the containers!"

"**Well don't just stand there with your thumb up your ass!"** Falcone yelled. **"You get down there! You find out who done it, and you **_**kill **_**him!"**

"I'll call the rest of my guys to back you up!" François exited the car and barked orders in Creole. Now his best hitters were joined by most of Falcone's personal team, leaving them two henchmen a piece to stand guard as they completed the transaction. The two of them were feeling confident that fifteen strapped, heavy hitters could handle anything.

Only a few seconds elapsed when one of François' men suddenly cried out, stumbled, and fell to the weather-worn dock.

"_Enrique!"_ his partner called out, rushing to his side. One of Falcone's men walked over to them and looked at the man's neck. A tiny dart was sticking in the man's neck. The three remaining gunmen raised their weapons at the shadows. Suddenly the shadows began to move. One of Falcone's men fired his AK-47 shooting an entire clip at what he thought was movement.

"How could you miss?" the other yelled. "He was _ten feet away_!" The shadow shifted before knocking the assault rifle away and slamming a fist into its former wielder's stomach.

Before they knew it, a dark figure pounced on the limo's hood, making a loud _bang _that frightened Mario inside the car. François looked on as well, but could not make out who this creature is, Falcone's boys, though, knew this creature all too well.

"_**It's the Batman!"**_ Paulie yelled as he and the rest of the gunmen ran back to the limo, all sending a rain of bullets towards the Dark Knight. The hero leapt into the air, his cape flowing behind him like dark wings. A boot knocked six teeth out of Paulie as he drove a fist into the head of one of François' men.

The Dark Knight leapt back as the rest raised their weapons again. The Batman's left boot touched a discarded metal pole on the pier. He kicked it up and twirled it, the weapon a blur in his hands, then slammed both ends into two of his enemies, a maneuver that knocked them both down. Batman whirled, launching a fist into another thug, and leapt into the air, coming down on the biggest of François' men, smashing his face in with his boots. The Batman landed and ducked as three shining knives flew swiftly over his head. A flick of his left wrist, and a Batarang disarmed all three.

"_We gotta get the fuck __outta __here, Frankie!"_ Falcone looked to his left at the Haitian but the White Wizard had already slipped away from the limo, _like magic._

* * *

"All QRT elements report: _'in position and ready,'_ Commissioner."

"Good work, Sergeant Perry," the head of the GCPD said as he placed a bulletproof vest before donning his favorite "Dick Tracy" trenchcoat.

"What about my little band of federally trained troops, Sgt. Ryan!? You know, the ones armed with _advanced weapons and equipment__?_" The large man stubbed out his cigar on the portable operations console, just to the trooper's right arm, at the _de facto_ ashtray spot that only the LT, Col. Fury and that weirdo with the wild hair and the metal claws use.

"_Sir!_ All fireteams report: _'in position,'_ Lt. Dugan!" The SHIELD trooper reported. "All cyber units report: _'go for drop.'_ Retrieval units on standby and awaiting orders, _**SIR**__**!**_"

"Excellent, Sergeant!" Lt. Dugan checked his weapon, then placed his bowler hat on his redhead. As he turned away from the ops console, he noticed Commissioner Gordon as he checked his Chief's Special then stowed it in his holster. "Jimmy, you and your Quick Response guys best pull back; these things tend to get messy."

"Oh, no, Dum-Dum!" Commissioner Gordon replied to the SHIELD XO. "_Our_ town, _**our**_ scumbags, _**OUR **_bust! We'll collar Falcone _and _Riché and we'll indict them both _**here**__**!**_"

"No way, Jimmy! Now, we go back a long ways, but when someone attempts to arm street punks with SHIELD tech, your orders come signed by President Parkman himself! Our orders are: nab 'em, retrieve the stolen tech; indict 'em all in Trenton, guilty on all counts; and lastly life in Leavenworth. And if that don't work, we'll link them to _'Classified terrorist cells,'_ and give 'em a one way ticket to _Project 42!_"

"Sir!" The trooper concentrated on her commutations earpiece. "Signal units report heavy gunfire at OpsPosts Quebec, Romeo, and Sierra!"

"_It's going down __already__, damn it!_ **All Fireteams move in! Weapons hot! All cyber units on ready alert! Fireteam Foxtrot, **_**ON ME**__**!**_**"**

* * *

François made another daring escape. He'll never tell how he was able to slip out of a limo without making a sound, taking the SHIELD plasma-beam rifle without being seen, or even how he could reattach the seatbelt without being heard.

_That fool, Falcone, probably thinks I vanished into thin air!_ he thought to himself as he strolled out of the port.

He looked at his watch for the time; it was 8:15pm. The number 121 bus to Cathedral Square was five minutes away from arriving on this block at 8:20 (and in this part of town, it was _never _early). He walked to a nearby bus stop. Sure, it may be degrading, but who would expect _Sòsye an Blan_ to ride a city bus? But as he hides the advanced weapon under his long coat, he retrieved his frequent transit-rider card, which is one of his _many_ secrets to his many _successful_ escapes from the _not-quite-so-long_ arm of the law.

_Well, if nothing else_, he thought as he chuckled to himself softly, _I've racked up enough points to get that toaster oven!_

As he approached the covered bus stop, he noted a shadow. Looking up he could only find one word to describe what he saw on top of the bus stop.

"_Merde!"_

Riché moved quickly, drawing the SHIELD weapon and prepared to blast a hole in the Dark Knight he could see Metropolis through.

_The Batman moved faster. _

Riché was quickly disarmed by a well-placed Batarang. A second wrapped a line around him and tripped him. Before he could lift his head off the pavement, Batman was crouching, looking him eye to eye.

"_Sòsye an Blan_," he called him by his street name in a hardened fashion. "I don't care about your business deals! What I want to know is who supplied you all that SHIELD weaponry?"

Riché gave a wide grin and addressed the Dark Knight.

"So we finally meet face to faceless, Dark One," He began to chuckle. "All you and _le gendarmerie_ have is some science fiction toys and Falcone's _senp fou_. _Mes avocats_ will have me back on the street so fast you'd think I hired Harry Houdini, himself!"

Batman grabbed him by the collar of his silk shirt and pulled him inches to him. "SHIELD installed next generation bugs _all over_ your meeting place. They'll charge you with state and federal gunrunning charges, and just to get you to talk, Nick Fury will threaten to add aiding and abetting terrorist activities to send you on a one-way ticket to a place _worse than Guantánamo Bay_ with _no legal rights_. This is one disappearing act you _won't _be pulling off. _**Who. Is. Supplying you**__**!?"**_

"Unlike all the other cowards," Riché countered, "I'm not scared of you! _**I AM MAGIC**__**!**__"_ The White Wizard now laughing at him.

The Dark Knight simply looked up at a lamppost and grinned.

* * *

"The trail leads this way, Lieutenant!" Sgt. Garcia called out. "Towards the street!"

"Don't lose that trail, Sergeant!" Lt. Dugan ordered as his four SHIELD troops and Jim Gordon's six-man QRT element dashed from the shadows onto the street. When they made it down the block to Port 'o Call Lane, the tracking equipment they utilized failed to locate the next-gen plasma-beam rifle nor the brazen gunrunner who both disappeared _like magic_.

"We lost him sir," Sgt. Garcia called out.

"_DAMN IT__!"_ Lt. Dugan threw his derby hat on the pavement in disgust. "_FIND HIM, SERGEANT!_" he barked, _"__OR I'LL BE FEEDING YOU TO THAT GIANT BULLDOG LIVING IN HANGAR BAY 12__!"_

"Tell you what, Dum-Dum," Gordon offered his SHIELD counterpart. "Whichever team finds him first gets first crack at him, then we split the difference with the U.S. Attorney and Col. Fury and indict on a concurrent jurisdiction case." He extended his hand to Nick Fury's XO.

"Damn it all! _YOU'RE ON, JIMMY__!_" He shook the police commissioner's hand. "Spread out! _No way_ can that Haitian just disappear. He _ain't _a mutant and he _ain't _got magic powers!"

"Oh, he _is_ magic," Gordon pointed twenty-five feet above the street. "But he isn't that good of an _escape artist!_"

Hanging from a street light was A SHIELD plasma-beam rifle, next to that hung the White Wizard, tied up and gagged swinging over the street. A piece of tape over his mouth prevented him from begging for help.

"Don't you just love it when they're left gift wrapped like that, Dum-Dum!? Okay boys, someone call the fire department and _get that gunrunner __down here__!"_

* * *

The Batman looked on from a nearby rooftop, watching Gordon and Dugan's people attempting to bring down the trussed up gun smuggler and the weapon dangling from the street light. SHIELD troopers secured all the massive firepower as Gotham City's Quick Response Team mopped up all the thugs.

It was at this moment that he noticed a beeping noise emanating from his utility belt. Pressing a button on his belt, he revealed a voice message that was sent to a secured cell phone used by Bruce Wayne, but only five people had access to that number: Dick, Tim, Barbara, Alfred, and Clark.

And they only used it when they knew they _can't_ call Bruce.

A press of another button and the text message waiting on Mr. Wayne's phone was translated via a speech synthesizer and sent to the earpiece in his cowl.

**The homemade rhubarb pie is now in the oven and will be ready soon. -Alfred.**

The Batman knew that this was a distress call, as Barbra was allergic to the rhubarb plant, and called Alfred's cellular phone straight away.

"_Master Bruce!"_ the faithful Wayne Family retainer exclaimed over the phone. _"Thank goodness you finished your business meeting so quickly!"_

Bruce Wayne's voice held concern over the phone. "What is it, Alfred?"

"_Something dreadful has happened. The Penguin has kidnapped Master Tim and his companions! He's holding them in the aviary at the zoo!"_

"Have you contacted Kordel and the police, Alfred?"

"_That's the issue, Master Bruce. Agent Nichols is attempting to rescue them__**himself**__**!**__ I dropped him off outside the zoo ten minutes ago and he's carrying enough weapons to retake the Falklands!"_

"_**Tell me everything!"**_

* * *

For the past twenty minutes, the lone figure, clothed all in black, crept from vantage point to vantage point, revealing the size of the Penguin's forces, their deployment, resources and tactical strengths, and most importantly, _their __**many **__weaknesses._

Ten pairs of large henchmen patrolling the perimeter and interior of the zoo were all armed with Uzi's. Two men were stationed in a pair of trees, commanding an unobstructed view of the main entrance when the Penguin expected him to appear in ten minutes. All the surveillance cameras in the zoo were active, but the camera's angle of movement was extremely narrow and slow. This pattern is very useful to help zoo security find lost children who wander away from their class in a field trip, or spotting a pickpocket in a large crowd or even to locate escaped animals, but not so useful to detect an armed incursion. But, whoever expected someone to invade a zoo in the middle of the night?

This works to Kordel Nichols' every advantage, as he easily slipped through the coverage holes in the video surveillance system. His reconnoiter of the zoo was almost complete. Now, to lower the scumbag-to-rescuer ratio to a more manageable level, hopefully _zero to one._

So far, he hadn't seen or heard any of the patrol radio in either a situation report or check-in with their position at any regular basis. So if luck holds for the Secret Service agent, all the spare cartridges he brought for his tactical Taser will pay colossal dividends. And as if on cue, one thug slipped away from his companion to smoke a cigarette.

_Nasty habit_, he thought as he unholstered the electroshock device. _I do not know how Remy, Logan, _or _Agent Ziegler could abuse their bodies in such a way._

He leveled the Taser at the back of the lone henchmen. When the thug lit the cigarette, he fired the device. Twin electrodes shot out of the device silently and embedded themselves in the back of the smoker before he was even able to take that first drag, interrupting his brain's ability to control the muscles in his body. This resulted in an immediate loss of the thug's neuromuscular control, causing him to twitch uncontrollably as he slumped to the soft grass. Kordel disengaged the device, and then fell upon his first incapacitated suspect and knocked him out with an elbow to the thug's face.

"_You should thank me!"_ he whispered as he turned his body over and secured him with the restraints he brought. _"Smoking caused 5.4 million deaths worldwide last year!"_

Once he was restrained, he squashed out his dropped cigarette and reached for his weapon. After removing the ammunition magazine, he pulled the bolt to remove the chambered round, then removed the weapon's receiver cover and removed the most critical parts: its firing bolt assembly. He removed the extractor pin, causing the return spring to fly away from the assembly, rendering the weapon useless. Taking all the thug's ammunition magazines, he placed them carefully in a nearby trashcan and flung the pin, a vital, half-inch part, as far as his left arm was capable.

"One down," he whispered as replaced the Taser's tactical firing cartridge, then went looking for this suspect's partner before he was missed.

* * *

"This kid thinks he's a tough guy, Moose! He hasn't cried for his mummy _yet!_ Now, to show this West Coast _loser _how we deal with punks here in _Gotham_! Let's see how much of an ass-whoopin' he can take!"

The two thugs began to stomp on the teenager, who curled into a fetal position to protect his vital organs from the onslaught as steel-toed boots connected with knee, back, arm and spine. Their victim crawled away during a lull in the stomping until he made it to a wall and pulled himself up to a sitting position.

"_Bitch!"_ Jason Delano called out to his attackers. "You bimbos ain't _half _the man your _mothers _are!"

Oliver, the large man he had leveled to trick them into this woodshed session, fell upon the smart-ass teen, hitting him repeatedly with brass knuckles to his face and upper body. When he stopped, purely out of exhaustion, he stepped back to examine his handiwork.

Surprisingly, the teenager from Los Angeles pulled himself back into a sitting position again. _Everyone_ else would be half-dead and certainly not awake and chuckling at his attackers. He spit out a large gob of bloodstained spit towards the thugs and looked at his attackers.

"You two want me to be scared?" he asked pulling his lips into a red-tinged grin. "I'll try _real damned hard__!" _The Penguin's men did not notice the color of his bright blue eyes drain, turning white.

* * *

With ten sets of pure muscle securing the zoo, Oswald Cobblepot, dressed in the finest silk, adorned with an elegant black top hat, and an equally fine, _if also fatal_, umbrella, strolled leisurely to the main entrance of the Robinson Park Zoo. Two thick-muscled associates walked on either side of the Gentleman of Crime, calmly approaching their payday as if he was strolling for the morning newspaper.

"It is now 8:30pm," the Penguin informed his men after consulting a pocket watch. "If our trust funder does not show immediately, inform your men to execute the blond young gentlemen and retrieve his left index finger on a silver platter."

Before either goon could reach for their cell phones to relay the order, a lone figure could be seen walking along the shadows and dimly lit streets to the entrance of the zoo.

"Thank you for coming this evening, Mr. Nichols!" The Penguin greeted his guest. "Welcome to the Robinson Park Zoo. Please wait where you are as we escort you to my Aviary of Doom!" With a snap of flipper-like fingers, bright lights bathed the main entrance. Lights that surprised two of the Penguin's men, which allowed them to see a black-clad federal officer pointing a Taser at them, only a moment before he fired the device at one, he pistol-whipped the other with the stock end of the device before he could yell a warning to his confederates.

"It is 2031-hours," he mumbled to himself as he consulted the watch on his right wrist. "The Penguin evidently expects me to arrive any moment now," Turning the first thug over to restrain him, the loudspeaker system at the entrance told him something was gravely wrong;

"_You may now enter the zoo, Mr. Nichols!"_ The Penguin's voice was amplified to allow it to be carried even to the entrance of the aviary in the cold March evening. _"You shall see your young companions in short order, just as soon as you input your account numbers in this notebook computer that my esteemed associate, __**Bonesmasher**__, has been so thoughtful to have brought with him!"_

_There is someone at the main gate!_ Kordel realized as he restrained his fourteenth hired thug. _Alfred must have contacted the police prematurely. That must be an undercover officer._

Once their Uzi's were disabled, the federal agent quickly dashed for a vantage point near the main entrance to observe the four figures standing there. Looking through the targeting scope of his P90, he noted the four; two clearly the Penguin's henchmen, dressed just like the seven pairs of goons he had disarmed and secured. The Penguin standing between them, dressed in a tuxedo and a top hat with something in his right hand, possibly one of his infamous umbrella weapons, and a microphone in his left. Before them was a figure dressed in a heavy black trench coat standing in for him, though the real Kordel Nichols noted several prominent features that stood out.

_At least the Penguin decided against an internet search of my name,_ he remarked, eyeing them from a distance of at least fifty yards. _He would have known that I work for the Secret Service and, whoever this person is, he isn't even _close _to my height._

"_That is far enough, Mr. Nichols!"_ the Penguin's voice boomed a third time. _"Allow me to inform you of the terms of this agreement…."_

Kordel could not have been more pleased with this stroke of good fortune: a textbook comic book super-villain monologue.

_And to think I didn't believe Sean when he said they really do that,_ he marveled as he removed a small flashlight from one of his pockets and attached a small colored light filter, and switched it on in the direction of the figure facing the Penguin and his men. _I hope this officer knows Morse code,_ he remarked as he began to send a message to the officer:

**### ARMED FEDERAL AGENT.  
****ACKNOWLEDGE PRESENCE  
****WITH HOLD GESTURE. ###**

* * *

_What's that?_ The person in the heavy trench coat noted a blue blinking light from behind the Penguin and his men. _Someone's trying to send me a message. Damn! At times like this I wish I knew Morse code!_

"**Damn you!"** Kordel quietly grunted as he sent the message for the third time. _**"Raise your fist!"**_ It was at this point that he knew he would have to assume that the officer could not, _or worse,_ _did not_ see the federal officer signal him, and would have to assume he didn't know they were on the same side. He stopped flashing his message and moved from his position, creeping closer to them while maintaining cover.

* * *

_End of chapter eight_

_****__©David D. Amaya 2013_


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